


The Orlando Job

by amooniesong



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Drinking, Established Relationship, Gun Violence, Heist, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pre-Heist, Secret Relationship, Underage Drinking, prison break - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong
Summary: Clay - codename Dream - has been broken out of Florida State Prison by his associates George and Nick - Notfound and Sapnap. They intend to pull off one last heist before leaving the country, going their separate ways, and never looking back. Except even in the world of crime things are never that easy. Connections are complicated, everyone owes someone a favour, and no one can really leave that life behind for good.When the notorious "Dream Team" return to Orlando, their biggest threat isn't going to be the cops intent on hunting them down, but a rival gang returning from the shadows - the Sleepy Bois Incorporated. Can Clay, George, and Nick pull this off unharmed, or will the odds be too stacked against them from the beginning?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson
Comments: 123
Kudos: 138





	1. 1 in 7.5 Trillion

THURSDAY 15 JULY 2021, 15:57:23

FLORIDA STATE PRISON: 30°03'45.0"N 82°10'52.8"W

TEMPERATURE: 92.8°F; PRECIPITATION: 2%; HUMIDITY: 55%; WIND: 16MPH NNE

This wasn’t going to work.

There was no way in _hell_ this was going to work.

The drive had been mostly silent, and the two men sitting side by side in the vehicle as they travelled west along the FL-16 had barely taken their eyes off the road. It was hardly necessary to watch where they were going. It was straight, flat, and quiet. Eventually, the trees on their left peeled back from the roadside and the horizon opened up to show the first interesting thing they’d seen since leaving Gainesville a little over 30 minutes prior.

It wasn’t a stretch to say that the two were intrigued by what they saw, though implying their curiosity in any positive manner would have been painfully incorrect. 

Florida State Prison was no laughing matter, and neither George nor Nick were laughing. Nick’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel in a repeating pattern - index, middle, ring, pinky, index, middle, ring, pinky - whereas George busied himself with his gun: a Colt M4 Carbine. It was stolen, of course, and the gloves that enveloped his hands would guarantee no fingerprints were left behind. In reality, it hardly mattered. The moment the guards discovered that Clay had been broken out of prison, they would know it was his closest associates that had done the job. Who else would risk what could only be described as a sucide mission? 

“I love you.”

George’s words came unprompted, and Nick looked to his right, He was half tempted to raise an eyebrow and question the man, but instead his eyes just looked at the Brit softly. George cursed his expression, and Nick let out a breath of air as the hint of a smile crossed his face.

“What have we said about saying that _before_ we do stupid things?”

“Even for us, this is a new record.” George pointed out, knowing that left no room for Nick to argue back. “Aren’t you gonna say it too?”

“Yeah.” Nick let his smile widen a little more, almost reaching his eyes. _“After_ we finish this.” With that, he stretched his ring finger out to hit the indicator as they came up on the junction. 

“Nearly 4pm.” George said, leaning forwards in his seat and taking in a breath. “Just in time.”

“Just in time.” Nick nodded. 

The clothes he wore were uncomfortable. For one, they were tight fitting, and even with the air conditioner on he could feel patches of sweat forming beneath his armpits. For another they were quite the opposite of who he was as a person. He was - they both were - the anti-heroes, and they would never deny that. The three of them all knew the things they did weren’t exactly morally correct, they weren’t on the side of the _good guys,_ pretending to be one just felt wrong. Although, if you asked enough people you’d find a decent number of them that believed the cops were just another form of the bad guys.

“Get the passes out.” Nick instructed, holding out one hand for his own as he turned the steering wheel with the other and pulled off the main road. The lead up to the prison itself seemed underwhelming: they drove beneath an archway with the words _Florida State Prison_ adorning the metalwork and headed down a short road, taking a right at the roundabout and continuing down a brief stretch to a parking lot. George handed Nick the pass that’d been made for him, and he took in one final breath.

“See you on the other side, George.”

“I’ll see you there first, Nick.” George replied with a smile. 

Nick removed the keys from the ignition, turning the car off, and he opened his door at the same time as George to step outside. The heat hit him immediately, and as much as he _wanted_ to play it cool he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t sweating as his hands moved to his waist, tugging on his pants and pulling them up to sit a little higher on his body. The belt could’ve done with being a notch tighter, but it was a detail he was willing to overlook as he slammed the car door shut behind him and looked over the roof to George.

No, not George, not now. George was entering the prison under the name _Steven Longworth,_ and Nick was entering as _David McLeod._ They’d considered using their usual codenames for less than a moment when setting this up: crying out _Sapnap_ and _Notfound_ in the middle of the highest security prison in the state had hardly sounded like a sensible idea then, and it sounded even less like that now.

So, Steven and David gave each other a curt nod, and David tapped the side of his neck twice.

Game on. 

With their passes clipped onto the breast pocket of their uniforms, and their carbines holstered on their backs, they began the next phase of their journey. This was, without a doubt, the hardest part. Once they were in the prison they’d be in constant danger in the event of a slip up, but once they passed the entrance they should be under far less intense scrutiny. 

There stood four gates and one metal detector between them and the main site of the prison.

Steven stepped in first, flashing the officers a grin as he held up his card and removed his gun and the equipment that was hanging from his waist - sending it all through separately so it didn’t set off the alarms.

“Are you here much longer?” Steven asked as the woman leaned forwards, tapping against the bullet proof glass that separated them to indicate that she needed a closer look at his pass. He did as instructed and she shrugged.

“Couple hours. I’ve got tomorrow off, driving down to Orlando for a funeral.”

“Sorry to hear that.” He said. “The funeral, too, that must be rough.”

The officer gave half a chuckle in response, returning Steven’s pass to him and waving him through the metal detector. Once on the other side he retrieved his equipment, clipping his pass back in place and watching as David went through the same process. Remove his tools, make crappy small talk as his pass was checked, walk through the metal detector, then retrieve his weapons before continuing onto the prison ground.

Without a shadow of a doubt, both Steven and David decided that had been _far_ too easy.

As they walked together, quietly with stern looks on their faces and eyes flicking across the horizon, they made mental notes of everything they saw and heard. To their right was a fenced off, open-air recreational area, with those inmates under less strict watch jeering at them through the fence. To their left were a number of buildings, the wings of prison cells that housed criminals convicted of less heinous crimes. 

Steven and David continued to walk straight ahead, because of _course_ Clay hadn’t been able to get away with a light conviction. Of _course_ the one of them to be caught had to take the fall for the team. Even when he pled guilty to everything - robbery, manslaughter, and murder - they’d _still_ given him the worst sentence imaginable.

Clay wasn’t behind bars slowly counting down to the day he could taste freedom again, Clay had been given a death sentence.

_Fucking moron._

“Turn right here.” David said, gesturing his head ever so slightly to ensure that Steven knew exactly which path to take. They turned in unison, and David reached for his card, praying to every God imaginable that the money they’d paid was worth it.

He unclipped his pass and held it up to the scanner, then typed in a six digit code.

The light went green, and a click was heard.

He stepped through the gate, holding it open for Steven, and after putting his pass back on show they continued towards the next building. _This_ was where things were going to step up in difficulty again. They knew Clay’s schedule, it wasn’t hard to figure out when they’d developed a code to speak in and they’d been corresponding with it for the past several weeks, but they knew that for 23 hours a day, _every day,_ he was expected to remain in his cell. He was isolated from the rest of the world, allowed out 6 hours a week for supervised exercise, and 5 minutes every other evening for a shower. 

Steven stepped into the building first, followed by David, and they were hit with a wave of cold air from the air conditioners above. The room was cool and dry, and they were faced with more metal detectors and pass checks. Just as before they complied, making the same god awful small talk, before they were allowed into the building with their weapons on their backs. Now it was a case of finding Clay and making their way out without being caught.

A piece of cake, really.

They knew his cell was on the second floor, so they made their way up the first flight of stairs they came to and tried not to look too closely into each cell they passed. Every inmate locked up here was on death row, and there were _hundreds_ of them awaiting their execution. It felt difficult to believe they were truly on the wrong side of the law when the people running the place were murderous scum as much as those behind bars. What really made David and Steven’s stomachs churn was the fact that this could have been them. In fact, it _should_ have. If Clay hadn’t saved them, if he hadn’t taken the fall, then there was a chance all three of them could be awaiting the day they’d breathe their last.

It was surprisingly peaceful as they walked. Despite having been condemned to death the inmates weren’t fighting, they weren’t violent, they weren’t shouting slurs and insults at the guards as they patrolled. Many of them were praying, most watched television, several read and some wrote. Then, of course, there was Clay. Both David and Steven allowed themselves to glance into his cell, and when Clay looked up at the guards passing him by they saw his dull eyes begin to sparkle. 

They hadn’t told him it would be today, wanting to make it as easy as possible for him to act naturally in the hours before his escape, but the moment that David winked in his direction he put down his book and began what had been planned.

“Hey!” Clay shouted, giving David and Steven an excuse to stop in their tracks. “I’m fucking bleeding over here, I need to go to the infirmary.” 

His yelling hadn’t just attracted the attention of his accomplices, but of the Warden, who held out a hand, silently instructing David and Steven to take a step back. 

“How’d you start bleedin’?” He yelled. “You’re not gettin’ out for no papercuts.”

“S’in my shit.” Clay spat back. “Want me to hand it to you?”

“You’re disgustin’.” The Warden sneered, turning his head to face Steven. “Go check if there’s a doctor willin’ to do a stool sample would ya kid? I don’t want to carry his crap down there if there’s no one about.”

“Yes sir.” Steven said, eyes flicking to meet David’s for a brief moment before he did as he was instructed.

“And you.” The Warden poked a finger at David’s chest, causing the man to sway backward just a little. “Keep an eye on this fucker, make sure he doesn’t try any funny business. He’s had his hour out today.”

“Yes sir.” David replied, giving the Warden a nod.

As David stood outside the cell, his eyes remained firmly on the Warden, watching as he walked away and listening to his footsteps. He was aware of the eyes piercing into the back of his skull, and he’d address them eventually, but he needed it to be safe before he did. He’d been silently counting the steps, waiting until he reached seventeen before he tapped two fingers against the cell bars and Clay moved as close behind as he could.

“I’m David.” David whispered quietly. “G’s Steven. Use that until we’re outta here.”

He didn’t need to turn his head to know that Clay was nodding, and he made sure to hold his position at the cell doors until he heard the familiar echoing of boots on concrete that signalled Steven’s return. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been doing this for, but the sooner they were out the happier he’d be. 

“There’s a doc, said we can take him down for a prostate exam too.” Steven informed the Warden, who chuckled a little too heartily.

“Now _that_ I can let him out for.” The Warden replied, walking with Steven back towards David. When he stood at the entrance of Clay’s cell he stuck one hand in his pocket to fish out the key and with the other he gestured for Clay to step away from the door. “Don’t think I ain’t cuffin’ ya. Bet you’ll wish you hadn’t mentioned this now.”

“Maybe it’ll hurt them along with the execution.” Clay suggested. “Beats waiting endlessly for it.”

“Cheerful, ain’t ya.” He said, pushing the cell door to one side and stepping over the threshold. Clay glanced to David and Steven, who shook their heads with the smallest movements, and the Warden pulled his arms behind his back to handcuff his wrists tightly. Just a little tighter than necessary, something that surprised neither David nor Steven after their short experience of the man. “All yours now, boys. Radio up if he’s caused any trouble, you have my blessin’ to do what you need to to keep him in line.”

The men nodded. Steven entered the cell, grabbing Clay’s wrists with one hand and placing another on his shoulder as he led him out, and David reached over his shoulder to grab his gun. Carbine in hand, he walked behind the pair as they began to travel away from the cell. The Warden’s eyes didn’t leave them while they made their way down the corridor, and the three of them could tell as they turned to walk down a flight of stairs that they weren’t out just yet.

They needed to get Clay out of the building, then out of the compound, then run.

At this stage, there were three options. The first - the easiest - was to find a bus used for transfers, smuggle Clay onboard, and drive out the front gates. It would be the safest method to get out if all went according to plan, but if it _didn’t_ they wouldn’t be in a particularly fast or armoured vehicle to make their escape in.

The second option was a little harder, but still doable. When in the infirmary they needed to knock out the doctor, find a set of guard’s clothes for Clay to change into, and the three needed to leave the compound together. There was another way in and out - which meant that the same woman wouldn’t see them for a second time that day and become suspicious - but it meant a long walk around the perimeter where they could be caught, and it meant there would be unconscious witnesses - and God only knew how many conscious ones.

Then, the third and final option, and _no one_ wanted that to happen. It was, more or less, a nuclear option. All hell would break loose, they’d have to shoot their way out against a small army of cops, and they’d have to do so before backup arrived. It was dangerous, it was unlikely to work, and it was stupid. Why it even _existed_ as a plan baffled Steven, but David had insisted it needed to remain on the table. If the first two failed, they needed to know what they were at least going to _try_ to do.

Steven began to whistle the theme song to _Doctor Who,_ and David and Clay instantly knew what that meant. Plan two. 

David had to admit, it _was_ his favourite. After all, he was the mastermind behind this one.

Once on the first floor Steven led Clay to the right, then the left, then the right once more. David kept a close watch on the cameras from behind, looking out of the corners of his eyes to avoid drawing attention to himself by the security team. He remembered the face of everyone they’d seen, everyone they’d passed, and he prayed that he wouldn’t need to use that information.

They entered the infirmary together, David scanning his card and using his pincode to open the door for Steven and Clay, and the three stepped inside. Immediately, he looked around, scanning his surroundings. The room was far simpler than he imagined it would be, but he assumed that in the case of a riot or any significant incident, the prisoners and guards would be taken off site for treatment. This wasn’t supposed to be a hospital, and most of these men were here to die, it wasn’t like the Government cared _that much_ about them.

“So, Clay, what seems to be the problem.” The doctor began, and Clay immediately reacted with hostility.

“Don’t try and be friendly with me.” He snarled.

“He was reporting blood in his stool, doc.” David piped up, filling the role of _good cop_ quite well as he nodded towards Steven. “He came down a few minutes ago to ask about a stool sample.”

“Oh yes, a prostate exam as well.” The doctor nodded. “Give me a moment to get the paperwork I need, just try to relax Clay. It’s never as bad as you think.”

Clay looked over his shoulder to Steven, and then to David, and he gave them a glare that told them one thing and one thing only: if they let _anyone_ shove a finger up his ass, his first act when he got out of there would be putting a bullet between their eyes.

David’s lips threatened to curl into a smile and he considered, momentarily, that it _might_ be worth it.

Now was time for the next part of the plan. Knock the doctor out and find another set of uniform for Clay to wear. After that, they just had to move quickly and they’d be home free, and they’d have broken a man on death row out of the most secure prison in the state. It was _laughable_ how easy everything had been to that point, and both David and Steven were left thinking why it hadn’t been done before.

Well, as it turned out, they were about to discover _exactly_ why it had never been done before.

“Now, gentlemen.” The doctor began, turning on his seat to look towards David and Steven. “I don’t think I recognise either of you.”

“Probably the haircut.” Steven said. “The girlfriend’s been saying the same thing, barely recognises me without my beard.”

“Convenient.” He said. “Your excuse?” He looked to David expectantly.

“New to the prison, promotion.”

“Oh, well congratulations.” The doctor leaned back in his chair. “The funny thing is, I can’t find you on any of our medical systems.”

Shit.

“Are you sure they’re all--”

“It’s all _very_ up-to-date.” The doctor smiled, a hand dipping beneath his desk and his knuckles moving in a way that David could tell meant a button had been pressed.

_Shit._

“So, are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

“Burn in hell.” David said, and in one swift motion he cocked the carbine he held, aimed, and fired once. From such close range, there was no way that he was going to miss, and the splatter of blood when the bullet pierced the doctor’s chest confirmed that. 

“Plan three?” Steven - now _Notfound_ \- asked, and David - returning to Sapnap - nodded. 

“I need a gun.” Dream said hurriedly. “And I need these handcuffs _off.”_

“Give me a second.” Notfound replied. “Bend over, I need better leverage to break it.”

“Oh, you’d _love it_ if I bent over for you.” Dream chuckled, and Sapnap rolled his eyes.

“Not the time, you can flirt when we’re free.” He said flatly, searching the room for a weapon for Dream. He didn’t _really_ want to give up his gun, but Dream was just as handy with a more _personal_ weapon - a baton would suit him _just fine_ for the purposes of escaping. He just needed to not get _shot._

“What are the odds of us getting out?” Dream asked, feeling Notfound hitting the butt of his gun against his handcuffs in just the right position that the locking mechanism was compromised and he was able to move his arms freely again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Sapnap replied, pulling his baton and taser from his belt and handing them to Dream.

“About one in seven and a half trillion, I think.” Notfound teased.

“I’ve half a mind to shoot you right now.” Sapnap cocked his gun as he spoke. “Ready to run?”

“Stay between us, Dream. We’ve got armour, you’re the most vulnerable of us all right now.” Notfound told him, and with nods from the two of them they began to move out.

It became apparent the moment they opened the door from the infirmary just how difficult escaping was going to be. The press of that button had been enough for every cell to be locked centrally, giving every guard in the wing - and every guard in every other wing - the freedom to descend upon their location. The faster they moved, the better chance they had of making it out alive. With every second they wasted, that _seven-and-a-half trillion_ grew gradually larger.

The moment Notfound had stepped out of the door, he began to shoot. He didn’t have enough ammunition to fully let loose with the automatic setting, so he took several shots in quick succession. One hit a guard in the shoulder, the second hit a different guard in the head, and the third hit the first guard in the leg. Sapnap covered the group from the opposite direction, his shots landing much more squarely in the chests of the guards that aimed at the trio as they began to move. 

With so many people watching them, and backup almost _certainly_ being called, they needed to go for a quick escape rather than a sensible one. Which, naturally, meant one thing and one thing alone.

They needed a _helicopter._

“Up!” Notfound yelled, feeling his arm starting to go numb as his body suffered through the torment of constant recoil, and the group began to slowly move towards the staircase they’d descended earlier. If they could get up to the second floor then they could find a ladder to make their way to the roof, and from there they had the best chance of finding a helicopter. Heading upstairs also meant they’d be forcing the guards chasing them to a bottleneck, and they’d have a height advantage when taking them on. At least, that was the plan. For now they were still very much at a disadvantage - outgunned, outnumbered, and cornered. 

It was therefore unsurprising when Sapnap let out a yelp of pain, and Notfound felt Dream move away from him to take the carbine from Sapnap and start shooting instead. 

“Sapnap, head upstairs, find a way out.” Dream hissed, slipping quickly back into his position as their leader. He might not have the same armour that Notfound and Sapnap did, but he was too cocky to care. Sapnap didn’t question his orders, heading immediately upstairs as he was told, and Notfound and Dream fought back to back. With a full 360-degree view they were able to fire as soon as a threat began to make its way towards them, and being so close meant their callouts when they needed to reload were too quiet for the guards to pick up on.

When they reached the foot of the staircase they both lowered their weapons and began to run - two steps at a time - until they were out of the firing lines of any guards. At this point, there was no telling how many they’d killed, but one thing was for certain: they weren’t going to be arrested. They were either getting away, or they were getting shot.

“One in seven-and-a-half trillion?” Dream asked, breathing heavily as he jerked his head from side to side to find a hint into which direction Sapnap had gone. A trail of fresh blood on the concrete floor pointed left, and Dream grabbed Notfound’s hand and they began to run. The sound of guards approaching from behind - and a good deal more arriving - was enough to spur the two men on. 

“If I hear you spit out those odds again, I’ll personally execute you.” Notfound retorted, letting Dream pull him to the right as the blood led to an open door into a facilities closet.

“Putting the cute in execute.” Dream laughed, and Notfound was inches away from sticking out his leg to trip the other up. 

“Stop flirting with your saviour, focus on _actually_ escaping first.”

“Am I not supposed to flirt with my knight in shining armour?” Dream asked, and Notfound could hear the pout in his voice. He didn’t respond, not giving Dream the satisfaction of a reply as the two of them managed to run into the closet. Notfound slammed the door shut behind them, concentrating on keeping anyone else from entering, whilst Dream started up a ladder in the back of the room. Thank _God_ Sapnap had done his research - if this had been a dead end they’d have been killed in a matter of seconds. Notfound listened to Dream’s footsteps, only stopping moving various items in front of the door when he could hear that his boots were no longer on the metal rungs, but the roof above. Notfound could hear the shouts of people on the other side of the door, so he didn’t wait a moment longer. He turned and ran, jumping to grab hold of a higher rung to save the first two steps up, and he clambered out onto the roof with the others.

Immediately, the oppressive heat from before hit him, but on the roof there was a breeze that helped to lessen its effects. He barely had a moment to think about it as the door below burst, and Dream was immediately closing the heavy iron hatch to block access to the roof. It would buy them seconds at most, but they would be _critical_ seconds.

“We have to run.” Notfound said. “Sapnap, are you--”

“I’m fine.” He said immediately, cutting Notfound off mid sentence. “There’s a helicopter in the courtyard, we need to get down and get in as fast as we can, I can fly.”

“Can you make your way on your own?” Dream asked. “We’ll hold them off here. We’ve got them pincered, I don’t want to give this position up.” He explained, and Sapnap nodded. Notfound looked at the Texan with worry in his eyes, but he gave the man a nod. 

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Hold them off as long as you can.” 

And with that, Sapnap was gone, dropping out of sight and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Notfound joined Dream at the hatch, twisting the lock to hold it in place as long as they could. It was heavy and awkward to move at the best of times, and with parties on both sides fighting for dominance it became a war of attrition, but they had a _very_ helpful associate on their side: gravity. They were pushing to keep the hatch down, the guards were trying to push it up, it was _always_ going to be easier for them. 

Cries from the ground alerted guards to the fact that the trio had split apart, and as Sapnap ran across the sandy courtyard toward the helicopter, guards gave chase. They shot at him without care for his welfare or, seemingly, their own, but he seemed to be having a good deal of success with dodging their bullets. 

Wordlessly, Notfound left Dream’s side and made his way to the edge of the roof, looking down the sight of his carbine and lining up the guards that he could. He took slow, manual shots at their heads, though the wind speed kept more of them safe than he would have liked. A couple dropped to the ground, giving Sapnap the window of opportunity he needed to clamber into the helicopter, and only then did Notfound allow himself to look out onto the horizon. 

That flat, boring expanse of road he and Sapnap had driven up less than an hour before was now being swarmed with traffic. 

“Backup’s here!” Notfound called to Dream. “Get ready for pickup!”

Notfound took a couple more shots, and Dream used the only thing he had that would fit to jam the hatch shut. The other gun, wedged in place, wouldn’t hold for long, but it _should_ be enough for him and Notfound to climb aboard the helicopter when Sapnap flew to them. The sound of gunfire in the courtyard was quickly covered by the sound of rotary blades beginning to spin, and as the wind picked up Sapnap took to the sky. The next few seconds passed excruciatingly slowly, it felt like a lifetime between the moment that the helicopter took flight and the moment it began to move toward the building they were standing on. 

Sapnap wasn’t going to stop for them, that much was obvious, but he was flying deliberately low. He had a God damn _bullet wound_ and was still being a showoff. Notfound rolled his eyes, rolled up his sleeves, and reached into the air with one hand and for Dream with the other. Dream grabbed hold of him tightly, his other hand above him, and when the helicopter came overhead the two of them both grabbed hold of the landing skids at the same time. Sapnap registered the dip of weight and pulled up, and Notfound and Dream let go of each other’s hands to pull themselves into the back of the helicopter. It was no easy feat - with bullets flying past their bodies and sweat forming along their palms - but the two managed to climb aboard. Dream was in the back first, grasping hold of the nearest seatbelt to him with one hand and snatching onto Notfound with the other. He pulled him up with all of his might, and after a moment of monumental effort Dream was on his back, Notfound on top of him, and Sapnap was flying high and fast.

“Holy fucking shit--” Notfound breathed, Dream pushing him to the side so he could sit up and close the back doors. “We fucking-- Holy _shit,_ we fucking did it!”

Now that they were isolated from the world - in a place where no one could hear them - they let their cover slip.

“We sure did, George.” Clay laughed. “Did you ever doubt it?”

“Yeah.” Nick said. “A _lot._ And we aren’t in the clear yet. You’ve just been broken out of the highest security prison in Florida when you were on death row, just because we’re out doesn’t mean they won’t stop looking. I’m taking us North, into Georgia, and we can hunker down for a few days until they call their immediate manhunt off. The safehouse East of Fargo should be clear.”

“East of Fargo it is, then.” George said. “Are you still alright to fly?”

“Yeah. Adrenaline’s keeping me going. Once we ditch this thing I might need a hand, though.”

George nodded, settling back into his seat and strapping on his seatbelt for the ride. The three shared a short moment of peace as the enormity of what they’d done settled over them, and then, Clay spoke.

“Were you two really gonna let that doctor shove a finger up my ass?”

“Yes--”

“Absolutely--”

Nick and George responded at the same time, and the three of them laughed. They laughed like they hadn’t just broken dozens of laws, like they hadn’t killed scores of guards to make their escape, and like they weren’t going to be wanted criminals nationwide in a matter of minutes. They laughed like they had a plan to fix all of this. And maybe, at some point, they’d come up with one, but right now all they had for certain was a safehouse to hide in and each other.

That was, the three of them decided silently, more than enough to get them through whatever came next.


	2. East of Fargo

THURSDAY 15 JULY 2021, 18:23:56

JUST OFF ROUTE 441: 30°45'29.7"N 82°36'28.5"W

TEMPERATURE: 78.2°F; PRECIPITATION: 5%; HUMIDITY: 65%; WIND: 9MPH NE

George was ashamed to say, as he stared at the dusty ground several hundred meters beneath his feet (and rapidly approaching), that he wasn’t all that surprised his day had ended with jumping from a crashing helicopter. In fact, this was higher up on the list of endings that he’d seen coming than he cared to admit. They hadn’t spent that long in the air, especially considering what they’d just done, and George was almost suspicious with how easy it had been to cross into Georgia’s airspace: he wasn’t even sure anyone had tailed them. 

He’d think about it more when he was on the ground. Right now, he focused on steering the parachute to help him and Clay descend a little more gradually as they approached. They had a long trek ahead of them and a sprained ankle would be a death sentence in the wetlands. 

“I’m taller than you, my legs are longer, pull up more.” Clay insisted, and George sighed. As far as he was aware, they still had plenty of room until they touched-down, and Clay piped up again. “That’s too much, we’ll go too far.”

“Y’know, for someone that was just broken out of death row, you’re _really_ ungrateful.” George said. His words were blunt, but there was a hint of playfulness to his tone. Only a hint. They did still need to get to their safehouse without being caught by either alligators or cops, and now that they were out of the helicopter and on foot George was tense and on edge all over again. At least in a helicopter there’d been a metal exterior protecting them, now all they had was the clothes on their back and - in his and Nick’s case - a thin sheet of kevlar body armour. Though with no cop cars in sight, and no helicopters following them, the risk was more from the wildlife than bullets. 

Nick steered his parachute in a wide banking turn, putting distance between himself, the quickly falling helicopter, and his friends to keep their chutes from tangling. Blue fabric acted as a kind of camouflage against the cloudless sky, allowing their descent to go unnoticed to those that weren’t actively looking for them. It was a little after rush hour, thankfully, and most of the traffic had disappeared. It took an element of difficulty out of their situation.

Seconds later, and in the blink of an eye, the helicopter crashed on the dirt road below and exploded into a ball of fire. The landing skids snapped and punctured the body of the chopper, severing the fuel tank and sending flames high into the sky. A thick cloud of black smoke quickly rose, billowing out and attracting the attention of the few people that lived along the road. They were quick to emerge from their homes in morbid curiosity and fear, eyes locked on the burning wreckage.

To keep from being spotted by the audience - and save themselves from being caught in the trees - the two parachutes headed a little further south down the stretch of Route 441. No one that had come out to inspect the crash was looking in their direction, providing precious moments after they landed to shrug themselves out of their harnesses. Clay was tossed a plastic lighter by Nick, and ignited both pieces of fabric hurriedly. The less evidence they left behind, the better. George took a brief moment to look at Nick: he’d been in the front of the helicopter when flying and now he finally had a chance to see how badly he’d been injured.

The right sleeve of his shirt was soaked with blood, and his hand was stained red and shaking. He was still conscious - still walking - which meant that the blood loss probably looked worse than it was. 

“No exit wound?” George asked, and Nick shook his head. That made sense. The bullet still being lodged in his arm was probably doing him a favour with keeping his blood in his body, and he thanked the cop that had shot him for not doing the greatest job. “Let me lead the way, I don’t want you getting more hurt.”

Nick didn’t protest, which concerned George a little more than it should, but while he was still upright and while there was still daylight they needed to start moving. The swamps would become more dangerous the later it got as the nocturnal creatures began to awake and feed, and the only thing that would keep the trio alive would be the fact that they’d made this journey before. George knew the shallower spots of the swamp like the back of his hand, he knew where they’d hidden their canoe, and if they could get there then they’d be more or less in the clear. His thought process was interrupted before he could delve any further into his anxieties about the trip.

“We’re good to go.” Clay said, giving a thumbs up as the parachutes started to burn more intensely, melting at the edges and pooling on the tarmac. With that confirmation, George nodded, and he began to lead the trio into the thick woodland at the side of the road.

The first few miles were easy enough. The dense trees meant they couldn’t walk in a straight line, but that was _annoying_ more than anything else. The ground beneath their feet was still solid, a little dry and dusty from several days without rain, but it was a stark difference to the terrain they would soon be crossing and so they all counted themselves lucky. The group saw no one - something they were incredibly thankful for - and they managed to reach the halfway point with little difficulty.

Said halfway point was marked when they approached the GA-177. The road was tarmac rather than dirt, and it was much more heavily used, but they had time on their side. Now that it was after 9pm the sun had set and they could cross in the shadow of darkness. Still, George encouraged the two to remain in a ditch at the side of the road with him, the three remaining still and silent while he listened for the sound of traffic. Eventually he gestured over his shoulder that it was clear and they could cross, and they moved quickly but quietly to the other side. Finally, they began to leave the last of civilization behind, and for a short time there were still dirt tracks they could follow. The eastern most point was soon reached and it was finally time to head into the swamp.

They’d made good progress so far, but they still had another 13 kilometers to go. 

Almost as soon as they’d stepped off the path they were waist deep in water. They’d been walking in near silence for most of the journey, so suddenly and constantly being surrounded by the sound of water being disturbed was deafening. George wasn’t a fan.

The wildlife around them changed - even in the darkness it was easy to see. The trees became bald cypress and giant tupelo, the plants became less _friendly looking flowers_ and more _hungry, carnivorous traps,_ and the creatures beneath the water - unseen to the naked eye as they waded through - became deadly. Every step could be an alligator, or a snapping turtle, or a rattlesnake.

At least no one was going to be stupid enough to follow them in here.

George used the most highly technical solution he could to ensure that the path they were taking was safe: a big stick. Before taking a step he’d push it down into the water in front of him like a spear, and if nothing howled in pain or bit the end off, he’d step forwards. It continued like that for several hours, with only a couple of mishaps (and thankfully, no missteps) but they eventually reached a wide expanse of water with no plant life blocking their crossing. Their canoe was tied to the roots of a giant tupelo not too far from where they’d reached the edge of the water, and only a handful of snakes needed throwing overboard before they could start on their way. There’d be another kilometer or so of walking on the other side, but the worst of the journey had been made.

Clay paddled, something that George was grateful for as he sat himself behind Nick, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward to rest against the back of Nick’s neck.

If he fell asleep for a short while, and needed to be shaken awake when they needed to walk again, no one said anything.

Nick might have given him a knowing look, though.

# # #

FRIDAY 16 JULY 2021, 05:34:19

UNNAMED LOCATION: 30°43'05.1"N 82°17'26.0"W

TEMPERATURE: 64.3°F; PRECIPITATION: 37%; HUMIDITY: 90%; WIND: 3MPH NE

Fog clouded the swamp, keeping the safehouse hidden from sight until they were tens of meters away, and the three men nearly broke out into a run at the sight of it. After nearly 11 hours hiking in the dark through dangerous terrain with nothing to eat or drink, the sight of the rickety old shack with its petrol fueled generator and water filtration system was a kind of relief they never thought they’d feel. The last few steps felt like they’d reached some kind of a holy ground and when they pulled themselves up onto the old wooden decking - finally feeling solid ground beneath their feet once more - they laughed. Nick and Clay went inside to change, with George filling up the generator before joining them. 

Nick had changed into a dry pair of jeans and a short-sleeved black t-shirt, his bloodstained guards uniform left discarded on the ground: it’d be burned later. When George closed the door behind him, he heard Clay reaching above his head and letting out a quiet groan as he stretched.

“I’m going for a bath.” He said. “Then I’m going to sleep for a week. Wake me up if there’s an emergency.”

“Is it an emergency if--” Nick began.

“No.” Clay laughed, his eyes wrinkling just a little and dimples forming on his cheeks. “Absolutely nothing is an emergency. If the cops find us I’d rather you set the place alight with me still inside than wake me up after the last few months. You _know_ you could have come and rescued me sooner, right?”

“We didn’t want to.” George shrugged. “It was quiet without you. Nice, actually. We might take you back if you annoy us too much.”

“Oh, shut up.” Clay rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel, some clean clothes, and made his way into the bathroom. And then, for the first time since they’d driven up to the prison the day before, George and Nick were left alone. 

For a moment, the world was quiet, and the only sound inside the safehouse was the distant running of water. Outside there was constant movement from the animals that roamed the swamp, it wasn’t long until the sun would rise past the horizon - an hour more at most - and birds were beginning to awaken. The sounds of songbirds and woodpeckers grew steadily, and then Nick let out a breath and smiled fondly at George.

“I love you too.”

George let his expression soften and his shoulders fall, eyes full of adoration and love for his partner, before he tilted his head to one side and gestured for Nick to sit down.

“What do you want to drink?” He asked, turning to find the cupboard full of first aid supplies and pull out what he suspected he’d need to help.

“Vodka.” Nick said, the old sofa shifting beneath his weight as he sat down.

“You’re twenty, Nick. Haven’t you broken enough laws today?”

“You’re about to pull a bullet out of my arm, I think I’m allowed something to numb the pain.” Nick retorted, and George hummed. He carried the tweezers, wipes, bandages, needle and thread to Nick’s side and placed them down on an old wooden coffee table, his hands moving to the younger man’s cheeks and forcing him to look up.

“You can have vodka if you give me a kiss.” He teased, feeling Nick’s lips pressing against his briefly a moment later. It was chaste and playful, and enough to make George smile. It’d do for now.

He stepped away, changing out of his own disguise and into a similar style of jeans and t-shirt (though his was a deep blue rather than black), before returning with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. He didn’t miss the look Nick gave him - eyebrows raised - and he chuckled quietly.

“For after.” He explained. “I’m not going to do this drunk. Don’t worry.”

“Good.” Nick replied, pouring himself a shot with his good arm as George grabbed the antiseptic wipes and started to clean the blood that had already dried. The hair on his arm was matted, and even with the wipes Nick would need to have a proper wash to clean it properly but this would get the job done for now - he’d be able to see the wound clearly enough to work to remove the bullet.

“Tell me something.” George said, letting his eyes flicker up to glance at Nick’s face. The younger was staring at his injury, watching as George cleaned it methodically, and he could see the anticipation of pain building. “Have your shot and tell me something. Don’t look at it. It’ll make this worse.” His voice was gentle, and he waited for Nick to bring the glass to his lips and tip it back, drinking the alcohol in one go, and wince at the burn that followed before he looked away.

“I want out.” Nick sighed, grimacing and letting his head fall back, eyes resting on the ceiling as George reached for the tweezers and firmly held Nick’s arm in his left hand. 

“Out?” George asked, prompting him to go on as he pushed the metal slowly through the entry wound and started to move slowly to find the bullet. He kept a close eye on Nick, wanting to make sure he wasn’t causing him any more harm.

“Out of this shit.” Nick brought his free hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Neither of us signed up for this. We were stupid fucking kids, the jobs got bigger, the payouts higher, but I’m tired of it. We just broke Clay out of death row, we’re gonna be wanted men for the rest of our-- _fuck!”_

“Sorry.” George whispered.

“--The rest of our fucking lives. I don’t want this to be forever. I never thought it would be. Maybe I would’ve thought twice about joining if I knew this was where I was gonna end up.”

“I got you out of it.” George said quietly, feeling the tip of the tweezers knock against the metal bullet. “So I guess there’s some good in this life.”

“Do you think you’d have even looked at me twice if we didn’t do this?” Nick asked. “Or do you think you only love me because we’re criminals, and if we don’t have each other then we’d have to drag someone else into this hell with us.”

“Don’t talk like that. I love _you,_ Nick. There’s no point in dwelling on _what ifs_ and _buts,_ we’re here together and I’m happy that we have each other.” George shifted the hand holding his arm, applying pressure at either side of the wound as he slowly pulled the bullet from him. He heard a hiss of pain and looking to the side, confirmed that Nick had reached to take another shot. As soon as the bullet was out, he dropped it and the tweezers on the table and reached for the wipes. George had expected the action to cause him to start bleeding again, so he was quick to start cleaning the wound and keep it from getting infected. The last thing he wanted to do was amputate on Nick in the middle of a swamp - that wouldn’t go well.

“If I left this business, would you--”

“Come with you?” George asked, looking up to Nick to see him nod. He smiled, eyes twinkling a little at the promise. “I thought you’d never ask. I’d follow you wherever you went, I always will. It’s me and you until the end.”

“Us to the end.” Nick let out a breath, smiling back and closing his eyes. “I like the sound of that.”

“I’d kiss you, but if I lean over now I’m gonna cover us both in blood.” George laughed. “Keep your eyes open for me? Just until I’ve stitched you up. You can sleep then, but I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“You just want my attention.” Nick snorted. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

George rolled his eyes, keeping _his_ attention on Nick’s wound. He continued to clean it with wipes until the bleeding started to slow down, at which point he switched to holding the needle and thread and positioned himself just a little better to sew.

“This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” George said honestly. “Find something to bite down on, otherwise you’re going to wake his majesty up.”

There was a look in Nick’s eyes that said he was awfully close to making a joke about what he wanted to bite down, but a quick glare from George stopped him from making it. Instead, he grabbed the cushion from behind his head and brought it to his chest, biting down on the corner and giving George a thumbs up. 

He started to sew and worked as quickly as he could. Nick’s hand balled up into a tight fist and he let out hisses and grunts of pain each time the needle poked through his sensitive skin, and George forced himself to ignore it. He never enjoyed hearing Nick in pain, but he knew that if he didn’t sew the wound up it would take longer to heal and be vulnerable to infection - it might be hurting him now, but in the long run it would be worth it.

“You’re doing good.” George whispered, his voice as soft and reassuring as he could muster up. “You’re alright, I’m proud of you. Keep breathing through it, almost done.” 

The words continued until there were 6 criss-cross stitches on his forearm and the wound was tightly shut. Rather than look straight to Nick - who George was almost certain would have been crying from the pain - he grabbed bandages to finish off the job. Wrapping them around his arm, careful not to tie them too tightly, he decided it was a job well done. 

“There.” He said, getting to his feet and starting to clear the unused supplies away. “Now pour two shots, I want in.”

George made two trips - one to put the thread, bandages, and remaining wipes back in the cupboard, and another to put the used wipes in a bag and put the bloody tweezers and needle aside to be washed: he didn’t particularly care to do that just yet.

Returning to Nick’s side and dramatically lowering himself onto the sofa, he stretched his legs out and put his feet on the table. Nick shifted orientation, resting his head in George’s lap and letting his legs dangle off the end of the sofa, and he smiled up at George while the older man ran his fingers slowly through his hair.

“We can talk to Clay about this when things have quietened down a little.” George said. “I don’t think he’s gonna be particularly tied to this place, he’s the one that actually got caught and charged last time. I’m sure he’ll be on board.”

“Where would we go?” Nick asked. With his question, it started to rain, and George let himself relax a little more. Right now, he didn’t want to go anywhere. Despite everything that hovered over them - the fact that they were fugitives, hiding in the middle of a swamp to evade police detection, recovering from injuries that could have been a _lot_ worse - it felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. The man he loved was close to him, talking to him about their future, about the hopes and dreams they held, and the rain outside drummed against the porch rhythmically. The songbirds sung in time, the alligators roamed, snakes rattled and bears prowled: it was _beautiful._ He felt at home here, like he wasn’t a criminal: like they were just Nick and George - happy and in love.

“I dunno.” George said, leaning forward to take one of the shot glasses. “Somewhere warm would be nice.”

“I was thinking we check for places that don’t have extradition treaties with the US, but we can look for warm, too.” Nick teased, propping himself up a little so he could grab the other glass of vodka. The two clinked their glasses together, saying a quiet _cheers,_ and drank. Nick had already drank enough that the burn didn’t sting so much, but George let out a hiss.

“I hate that shit.” He muttered. “We need to find somewhere with better alcohol than vodka.”

“At least vodka gets the job done.” Nick shrugged, settling back into George’s lap. “But I’m sure we can arrange that. Warm and better alcohol and vodka.”

“Italy?” George suggested, and Nick exhaled a little louder.

“They’d send us straight back. It’s a nice thought, though.”

The two of them sat like that for a while, until the world outside began to brighten. The doors that led out to the porch were still open and the breeze began to pick up as the world warmed under the rays of the sun that fought to break through the heavy clouds, and through those doors the pair could see that world going by. There was a small body of water, clear of trees and other plant life, that was full of animals and rippling with every raindrop that fell. It was _perfect._

“Do you want to dance?” Nick asked, shifting in George’s lap, and now it was time for George to raise his eyebrows.

“Dance?”

“Yeah.” Nick smiled, sitting himself upright. His cheeks were flushed ever so slightly pink and George realised that the alcohol was getting to him - but a dance wouldn’t hurt. 

“Alright.” George replied. “We can dance. But I’m having another shot.”

“Pour out another for me, too. I’m going to put some music on.”

Nick got to his feet and George did as he was asked, pouring out two more shots and watching as his partner meandered around the room - more from the alcohol consumption than intention - to the record player in the corner. It was one of the few luxuries the men had out here, but it always helped pass the time whenever they needed to use the safehouse. Nick ran his fingers over the collection of different records, before letting out a satisfied _ahh_ and placing his chosen album on the platter. He pressed play, moved the tonearm and carefully dropped the needle on the disc, before returning to George’s side. He offered his hand, fingers splayed out, and George took it happily. With the two on their feet, they downed their shots, and took a step away from the sofa and table. The floorboards creaked beneath them as the music started and they approached the door. They’d only just come in from the swamp, only just dried off, but Nick tugging softly on George’s hand was enough to encourage him out into the rain. As the lyrics started, Nick moved his hands to rest against George’s waist, and George wrapped his arms around his neck.

_‘In a place that won’t let us feel, in a life where nothing seems real, I have found you. I have found you.’_

“You’re such a sap.” George whispered, their bodies closing together as they swayed from side to side together. 

“Sapnap.” Nick teased, and George leaned to rest his head on Nick’s shoulder. His eyes closed, his body relaxed, he let Nick lead him even if they weren’t doing much more than stepping side to side. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Nick’s shoulder, lips brushing against the hem of his shirt neckline, and he felt the arms wrapped around him tighten their hold.

_‘A song, played on a solo saxophone. A crazy sound, a lonely sound, a cry that tells us love goes on and on…’_

“What even is this?” George asked quietly, Nick leaning to rest his head atop George’s.

“Miss Saigon.” He replied with a chuckle. “It felt like it suited the mood.”

George opened his eyes again, not moving his head but just observing the world around them. As rain fell on them, as the fog began to clear, as birds sang and the music filled the swamp, he listened to the lyrics. 

_‘It’s telling me to hold you tight and dance like it’s the last night of the world.’_

“Yeah.” George agreed, feeling Nick lift his head. He looked to him, the two sharing eye contact for a moment, before Nick dipped his head a little to bring their lips together. For hardened criminals, the kiss was anything but. Their lips were soft, their movements slow and gentle, cherishing each moment they shared. 

They were going to get out of here, out of the game, and they were going to find somewhere to spend the rest of their lives together. Safe. Happy. In love. 

But for now, they had this moment, and they intended on making it last as long as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boys are soft ;-; i'm sure that will last & this fic is just gonna be super duper wholesome & there's nothing to worry about with the rest of the chapters!! if you enjoyed, please do leave a comment or kudos, always makes my day to hear from you guys!


	3. Sushi and the City

TUESDAY 27 JULY 2021, 09:27:26

SUBURBAN ORLANDO: 28°31'37.3"N 81°21'59.4"W

TEMPERATURE: 83.7°F; PRECIPITATION: 5%; HUMIDITY: 65%; WIND: 7MPH N

George, Nick and Clay had left the safehouse in the heart of the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge close to midnight, before beginning their arduous trek back to society. Rather than head west back toward Fargo they made their way further east - and after 17 kilometers through what felt like neverending swamp, enveloped in darkness and mist - they found dry, solid land. Nick damn near kissed the well defined dirt tracks that made up the perimeter as the three changed into new clothes. They burned the old ones, mixed the ashes with mud at the side of the road, and began the last stretch. Another 7 kilometers of hiking took them to the side of the GA-23, and with the sky only just beginning to brighten no one in any of the few cars driving by questioned  _ where  _ they’d come from. 

With the initial police attention now gone, the three had no problem calling an Uber. It helped that they hadn’t shaved, either, and that their hair had grown out a little over the last ten days. Combined with the darkness it was enough to obscure their faces, and either the driver was too tired to put two and two together, or simply didn’t care.

The fifteen mile journey passed by quickly and in silence, and Clay tapped through the app to leave a five star rating, tipping him just enough to make sure their ride was utterly forgettable. Now in Folkston, practically kissing the border of Florida, George took several wads of cash and split off from the group. Nick and Clay went to a diner for breakfast, talking quietly with each other as they ate (Nick a tower of pancakes and maple syrup, and Clay a plate of waffles, scrambled eggs and bacon). While Nick nursed a second cup of coffee, and Clay finished a glass of orange juice, their phones lit up and they both looked up and out of the window next to their booth. Outside, a second hand car with George at the driver’s seat. With the sun barely above the horizon there was no chance in hell that whoever they’d bought it from had asked any questions - no one would sell a car for cash at night unless they were  _ desperate  _ \- and the two got to their feet. Jackets scrunched up in their hands and phones tucked into their jean pockets, they offered the waitress a wave before joining George. 

Nick drove. George caught up on sleep in the back seats, lying flat across them with his head resting on bunched up hoodies. Clay gave directions, but outside of that they spoke very little. After spending so much time cooped up with each other, waiting for the intense phase of the manhunt to come to a close, they’d run out of things to talk about. 

As they made their way further south the sun steadily climbed higher into the sky and the temperature began to rise, with the wind picking up accordingly. A little over three hours later, they were pulling into the driveway of their safehouse in Orlando. Clay leaned back to shake George awake, and the two clambered out of the car leaving Nick to take the vehicle to be scrapped. Everything had been done with cash, fake names, and burner phones, but that didn’t mean they  _ wanted  _ to leave any way for their journey to be traced. 

The safehouse was as close as the three came to having a home. It didn’t look like the place three hardened criminals would live. With it’s neatly mown grass, tidy flowerbeds and flourishing bushes (mostly thanks to the gardener they paid to stop by once a week), it was only a white picket fence away from the American Dream and it showed. Most of their neighbours were affluent families with children and pets, the street itself was quiet and beautiful, and the lake just a few hundred feet from their front door made it seem like they weren’t just minutes away from the center of a bustling city.

Clay went for a nap at first, leaving George to walk to a 7-Eleven to fill up the fridge and cupboards with enough crappy food to see them through a couple of days. He and Nick managed to return home at the same time, nodding to each other as they walked up the street from opposite directions. Nick waited for George at the end of the red brick path that led to the front door, taking a bag from George and receiving a grateful smile in return.

“We’re doing this?” George asked him, one eyebrow raised a little, and Nick just nodded solemnly. If they didn’t do it now, when would they?

“We’re doing this. I’ll do the talking.” He replied, starting up the path and hearing George chuckle behind him.

“Talking, you’re bloody optimistic.”

“I am! He’ll be reasonable.” Nick said, trying to convince both himself and George of the fact as he slid his key into the lock, twisting it around and pushing the door open. The place was open plan, and from the entrance they could see through the living space into the dining room, breakfast nook, and kitchen. Several bedrooms and bathrooms broke away from the main area, and the pair could hear a shower running and hums coming from behind one of the doors. At least that meant they had time to unpack their shopping before they had the difficult conversation.

Nick found himself muttering the phrase  _ we want out  _ under his breath over and over again, and he felt George’s eyes on him several times as they moved around the kitchen together. He needed to build himself up, and by the time Clay emerged from the bathroom - ruffling his damp hair with a towel - he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“We made it, then.” Clay said, and Nick could hear the smile on his face before he saw it. As he spun around, the words blurted out of his mouth, and he’d said them before he even managed to lay eyes on Clay.

“We want out.”

Several seconds passed after Nick spoke, and the tension in the room was tangible. The smile dropped from Clay’s face, and the towel that had been in his hand was now placed on the counter in a heap as the blond folded his arms over and rested them on the surface, leaning his entire body weight on them.

“Out?” He asked, voice deadpan and eyes staring daggers into Nick for a moment before looking away and instead busying themselves instead with a slightly brown banana. Nick followed his gaze, watching as the banana was taken from the fruit bowl and held carefully in Clay’s hands. He turned it over once, twice, then placed it down on the marble and looked to George expectantly. 

“Yeah. We.” George said quietly, and Nick watched as his hands were shoved into his pockets and he took a step back, leaning against the sink. For a moment, it looked like Clay was going to be reasonable. The expression on his face morphed into one of consideration, and a hand came to swipe through his hair. After passing through each strand, Nick saw it turn from an open palm into a tight fist, and it was brought quickly down onto the already soft banana. Hitting it with all his strength, Clay managed to squeeze the fruit enough that the skin broke and the soft plantain catapulted out from the flesh in two directions - leaving a mess on the fridge and the opposite wall.

“You want fucking  _ out.”  _ Clay spat, his words laced with poison and malice even if he kept his voice relatively low. He might have been angry, but even he was aware that this wasn’t an argument the neighbours needed to hear. “After  _ everything  _ I’ve done for you two, you want  _ out?!”  _

“It’s nothing personal, Clay.” Nick said, feeling his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest. “It’s not you, it’s the life. We started doing this when we were kids, I never expected it to go this far! I was fifteen, Clay!  _ Fuck,  _ I was fifteen and just needed money!” He exclaimed, placing his hands on the counter as he realised they were starting to shake. He couldn’t have Clay see that - couldn’t have him realise just how intimidated he was by the situation. “I thought it’d be a job or two, a couple of robberies and pawning off what we got so I could pay you back for everything you did--”

“You could’ve left when your debt was repaid, Nick.” Clay growled. “You didn’t have to stay, but you did, and I let myself  _ trust you. Both of you.”  _

“We want out, Clay.” George said. “You think we’re going to run off to the cops with the locations of all your safehouses? If we were gonna rat you out, why the fuck would we have broken you out of jail?”

“We risked our lives to get you off death row, Clay.” Nick said, fighting to keep his voice quiet even if he wanted to scream. “We risked  _ everything  _ to break you out. I got shot. We jumped from a stolen helicopter, we almost got eaten by alligators! Why the  _ fuck  _ would we go through all that just to stab you in the back?”

There was a pause, a quiet moment of consideration while Nick breathed heavily and Clay thought about his next words.

“You’re  _ already  _ stabbing me in the back.” He settled with, in the end, speaking quietly. The anger was clear on his face even if his tone was gentle.

“Clay--” George began, only receiving a middle finger in response as the man stalked toward the front door. His footsteps were the only sound filling the safehouse, then the opening and slamming of the door, and then silence crept back in. It was all encompassing, and it carried itself through the thick, hot air of the building. It clung to everything, seeping into the cracks of the walls and permeating their skin, only letting go when Nick took in a breath and managed to speak up.

“Well…” He said, leaning forward and bringing his hands to rub at his face. “That went better than expected.”

# # # 

TUESDAY 27 JULY 2021, 19:08:32

SHIN JAPANESE CUISINE: 28°33'18.5"N 81°22'44.4"W

TEMPERATURE: 87.3°F; PRECIPITATION: 2%; HUMIDITY: 85%; WIND: 5MPH NNE

Neither Nick nor George could claim they were surprised when Clay didn’t return that day. They both took time to nap and to shower, and when the tension of the argument with Clay faded they managed to enjoy the time they had together. It meant they got to be normal, for once: watch television side by side (with Nick’s head resting on George’s shoulder, and their hands wound together at their side) and discuss what they wanted for dinner. The conclusion they’d come to was simple. After nearly two weeks in the depths of a swamp, they wanted sushi.  _ Good sushi.  _ So they’d donned on suits and taken an Uber into the city, stepping out a few blocks down the road and walking hand in hand through the warm evening air. The gentle breeze was enough to keep them cool, even with suit jackets on their backs, but they still had the top few buttons of their shirts undone. 

The two were seated by the window, looking out onto Park Lake Street, and they could continue to pretend that things were  _ normal.  _ Nick ordered the Combo for Two - Nigiri, Sashimi, California rolls and Rising Sun rolls - and two bowls of miso soup in near fluent Japanese, and they were left to enjoy the sunset with their hands laced together. The silence they sat in was comfortable, both just looking at where their fingers joined. Nick ran the pad of his thumb up and down George’s index finger slowly and rhythmically, the smiles on their faces genuine. 

“We’re out.” Nick breathed quietly. “How does it feel?”

“It’s not official yet.” George shrugged, but he thought for a moment before giving Nick an answer that satisfied him. “It feels good. We’re out, we’re free, we can do whatever we want now.”

“What do you want to do?” He asked. “You’ve got the brains to do anything, really. You could put all that coding knowledge to good use.”

“I don’t know if my moral compass can recover enough to put it to  _ good  _ use, but I could use it to make money.” George laughed. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. If we end up in a country I can speak the language of, maybe I’d go back to school. We’ve got the money for it, and I always wanted to... Y’know, before the accident.” His smile tightened a little, and George’s expression softened. “I could give comp-sci a go, I’ve not got your brains but I know enough.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” George’s fingers squeezed his tightly. “You’re perfectly capable, and I’m older than you - I had four years of studying on you. Honestly, if I  _ wasn’t  _ better, it’d be embarrassing.” Nick snickered. It  _ would  _ be funny if he’d been better than George despite it all. Maybe with practice he would be, though he wasn’t sure any amount of college level classes could give him the same knowledge and ability as hacking into the city’s CCTV system. 

“I love you, George.” Nick smiled, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It was strange, being affectionate like this in public, because their relationship was technically still a secret. George had suggested that they keep it between them when they’d first started dating, and it had stayed that way ever since. If Clay was around, they wouldn’t dare to do so much as hold hands - hell, they’d keep six feet apart at all times just to go the extra mile in disguising their relationship - but everyone here was a stranger. If Nick sat and looked around the restaurant now he’d see nothing but nameless background characters whose lives, choices, hopes and dreams did nothing to affect them. It meant nothing to either of them if the hostess saw them holding hands, or if the family sitting at table ten looked up to see them kiss. 

Here, in front of dozens of people, they were free to do as they pleased. It was a liberating experience after so long hiding their feelings, and they were going to take the opportunity and run with it. Nick brought a hand to George’s cheek as their kiss continued, lips lightly sliding against each other but not quite parting (they were still in public, after all). His thumb brushed along George’s jawline, tracing the shape of his bones, while his fingers moved slowly over the stubble that covered his face.

“I need to shave.” George commented, pulling back from the kiss, and Nick chuckled. To make a point, he pressed his fingers down a little harder and highlighted the short hairs of his chin. “Maybe when I’m not a wanted man.”

“You’re always wanted by me.” Nick quipped back quickly, earning an eye roll from George and feeling his hands batted away. 

“You test me, Nick.”

“You love me, George.”

The two of them moved back just a little, their hands coming together once more as they fell back into easy conversation while they waited for their food to arrive. Only when it came did their hands separate, and they only had  _ one  _ cheesy moment (at the insistence of Nick) where they fed each other a California roll. Despite the tone they gave off - the suits, the expensive watches, the confidence - it became evident on many occasions that they were just young men. When the facade of criminals and the act of sophistication came down, when they were themselves, they were happy and free, full of laughter and bad jokes.

Wherever they ended up, that was what Nick wanted their lives together to be like.

They spent the better part of an hour in the restaurant, dragging out their meal until just before closing time, and George got up to the bathroom and to go pay. Nick spent a moment longer sitting and staring out the window, letting out a breath as his shoulders fell. Tension oozed from his body when he stood, and he brought his arms in front of him, hands clasping together before they raised above his head and he stretched his a satisfied groan. His shirt untucked itself from his pants, showing off a little skin of his stomach while he listened to the pops in his back, shoulders and elbow. He closed his eyes to yawn, before finishing his stretch by letting his hands separate and form fists while his wrists circled and cracked.

When he reopened his eyes and looked out of the window, he felt a shiver run down his spine. The sun was beginning to set and the temperature starting to drop, but not that much. He was certain that if he shrugged his jacket off his shirt would be stained with sweat, it didn’t make sense that he could be cold.

He narrowed his eyes, examining the street opposite through the window.

It was ordinary, unremarkable, and plain looking. It was paved with bricks rather than tarmac, and the building immediately across from the restaurant was an apartment complex. It was seven stories high and adjoined to a multi-story garage. From where Nick stood, nothing seemed afoot. There was no one standing at a window looking at him, no one standing on a balcony or on the roof of the parking lot. 

“Nick?” George’s voice called to him from across the now empty restaurant, and he turned on his heels as his hands moved to tuck the bottom of his shirt back in at his waist. 

“You alright?” George asked, concern evident in his tone and on his face. Nick did his best to muster up a smile and a nod, offering the hostess a wave before the two of them walked to leave the restaurant. George reached for his hand, but Nick didn’t take it. “Nick…”

“Just a feeling.” He said, stepping out of the door and holding it open for George to follow him. “Felt like we were being watched. I didn’t see anyone.” He stressed. “But I just felt it. My gut isn’t often wrong.”

“Your gut is usually complaining about the vast amounts of fast food you’ve consumed.” George said, trying to lighten the mood, but Nick’s face remained less than pleased. “Do you want to get a taxi home?”

“No.” Nick shook his head. “Let’s walk. It’s only an hour, and it’ll clear my head. Besides, Clay might be home, and I’m not ready for that.”

“I don’t think either of us will  _ ever  _ be ready for that.” George said, removing his jacket from his shoulders as they began to walk side by side. George didn’t try to reach out and take Nick’s hand again, something he was grateful for as his eyes flitted across the horizon. He almost  _ wanted  _ to spot someone looking at them as they walked. If his paranoia had a reason to exist then he could deal with it so much more easily, but it was unsubstantiated, and that only made the anxiety bubbling in his stomach worse. 

A little over fifty minutes later, Nick found himself slipping the key to their home into the door once more. It was unnecessary, as the moment Nick applied pressure to the door it opened. Clay had returned and he sat in the living room with his feet on the coffee table and legs crossed. He was illuminated only by the television screen and nursing a glass of whiskey that was slowly lifted to his lips and sipped on occasionally. When Nick cleared his throat to announce their return to Clay, he didn’t move his head - didn’t so much as  _ glance  _ \- at the pair of them. There was a long moment of silence, just as there had been the last time they’d spoken, and both George and Nick knew that meant that Clay was considering his words  _ very  _ carefully.

“You want out?” Clay eventually asked when the door clicked shut behind the two men. “One last job, then you’re free to go.”

“And if we say no?” George asked.

“Two bullets. One for each of your brains.”

A beat passed. No further questions needed to be asked. Nothing more had to be sad. Both Nick and George knew that Clay was absolutely serious. It was an odd thing to hear your best friend speak in such a cold, uncaring tone about killing you, but in this business it hardly came as a surprise. Really, it was more surprising that it’d taken so long for him to make the threat.

“One last job.” Nick confirmed.

“We’ll talk details tomorrow.” Clay said, moving forward with a remote in his hand and clicking to turn the television off, plunging the room into darkness as he got to his feet. “Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight Clay.” George and Nick said in unison, waiting until he’d retired into his bedroom (with the glass of whiskey - and it’s bottle - still in hand) before they toed out of their dress shoes and turned every lock on the front door. Quietly, they said their own goodnights even if it was early, and made their way to their own rooms.

Each man slept with a gun beside his bed that night, tensions too high from the evening before to risk anything different. 

It was almost a miracle that they all woke up.

# # #

WEDNESDAY 28 JULY 2021, 13:41:19

VICTORIA JEWELERS: 28°34'02.4"N 81°19'38.7"W

TEMPERATURE: 95.9°F; PRECIPITATION: 34%; HUMIDITY: 90%; WIND: 9MPH ENE

This part of the city was beautiful. The buildings were made overwhelmingly from white stone, and archways, balconies and canopies all worked together to give the area a feeling of clean, crisp splendour. Somehow, even the Subway across the street looked classy. 

Nick had split up from George and Clay after lunch. They’d come to an uneasy agreement that they’d do one last job together - a big one - to fund their escape from the country. It was risky, but if done right it would set them up for life. The threat from Clay the night before had still lingered on the forefront of his and George’s minds, and it wasn’t hard to agree to  _ one last job  _ when saying no would result in certain death. At least saying yes only meant there was a chance of death.

Clouds had gathered overhead gradually as the day had progressed - there was a tropical storm bubbling a few hundred miles offshore and it was forecast to organise into a hurricane over the next few days. It was still too early in the season for anyone to expect it to pack a punch, but it meant that if they spent the day gathering intel for different options for their last job they could spend a weekend riding out the storm and planning their next move. 

Of course, Nick was a criminal, and if he was using this time solely to do as he was told then he would be wasting his talents. Yes, he was scoping out different locations as requested, but he was also on a very important, very  _ personal  _ mission, and this had just acted as an excellent cover for it. On the corner of Prospect Avenue and New Broad Street, Nick fixed his tie and straightened his belt, one hand moving to his jacket pocket to check that his card was still there, before taking the last few steps toward the jewellers. 

He’d been here before on two occasions. Once just to browse, and the second time to commission a bespoke ring. Today he would be paying the second half of the fee and walking away with a beautiful aquamarine and diamond engagement ring, crafted with care and exactly to his specifications. It would, he hoped, look absolutely beautiful on George’s slender finger. With their escape from America now firmly within their sights it was so much  _ more  _ than just a request for marriage - it was a promise. A promise that, wherever in the world they ended up, whether things went well or they were on the run for the rest of their lives, he would stick by George’s side through it all. He hoped, as well as that, it was a symbol for something new: the last chapter of their old life coming to a close and the first of their new opening.

The door was opened for Nick and he greeted the guard with a smile and a friendly wave, before doing the same for the woman behind the counter. She recognised him and greeted him with an embrace, placing a kiss to either cheek and smiling at him like a mother would her child - an action that made Nick’s heart swell. He sorely missed his mother. This line of work suited the woman well.

All in all, the entire encounter took place over forty-five minutes. Nick was taken into the back of the store and shown the ring, and they talked through how to care for it properly. They discussed insurance policies and how to get in touch if a stone came loose, and who to speak with if the ring itself was lost. Once he was happy with everything and the paperwork was signed (under a false name, of course), the ring was placed on a soft, blue velvet cushion in a black box and handed over. As he paid the last of what was owed, he looked at the ring with a smile on his face. He’d never really pictured himself wanting to marry, and four years ago when he’d gotten into this business he’d  _ certainly  _ never expected to find true love, but he supposed the world worked in mysterious ways. Sure, he’d been shot at a few times, he’d almost been arrested on  _ many  _ occasions, and he’d never be welcome in America again once he left, but he’d found George.

It wasn’t all bad.

At first he tucked the box into the inside pocket of his jacket, but upon catching a glance of his reflection in the window as he left and realising that it now looked as though he was wearing a wire, he moved the box to his front pant pocket instead. This was his last job with Clay and George, and while his relationship with George meant that trust was easy to come by, the argument from yesterday with Clay was still fresh in his mind. There was a chance that the man - despite being his best friend for years - would be driven by any residual anger and presume the worst. In that situation, Nick wasn’t sure if he’d be able to tell the truth and reveal their relationship, or if Clay would even give him the chance to.

No, it was simply better to avoid that happening all together.

They’d agreed to meet in Callahan at 4pm - by the tennis courts in Sunshine Park - just under an hour’s journey across the city from where he was. The time spent collecting the ring for George meant that he’d have to give the jewellers as a potential venue to convince Clay that he hadn’t been off doing  _ something else  _ during that time, though he’d downplay the store as much as he could. It’d be no good robbing them if they’d seen his face, heard his voice, and had his fake identity on paper in black and white. He took a bus back into the centre of the city and scoped out a bank, thinking little of it at the time. On the surface, it didn’t seem incredibly impressive, the security didn’t look all that hard to break and the tellers were as up-tight and anal about everything as one would expect, but something about the place stuck out to him. 

It wouldn’t leave his mind, as he wandered down the sidewalk toward the park at 3:45pm, that he  _ recognised  _ something. Whatever it was about the American Continental Deposit Corporation that he knew of, it was on the tip of his tongue. Maybe he’d figure it out in conversation with George and Clay over the weekend, or maybe a quick Google search would provide the answers he was looking for, but part of him wanted to remember on his own. There was always a sense of accomplishment when he could drag something out of the depth of his memories. 

At 3:58pm, Nick was sitting on a bench beside Sunshine Park, watching the clouds turn from white to grey as they sped by overhead. He had a feeling that the storm that hit over the weekend was going to be stronger than anyone was preparing for. Normally, in the days running up to a potential hurricane, people would be running round to board up businesses, put out flood defenses, and flee, but there was no such fervour this time. Maybe he was still just on edge from the day before - maybe everything was going to be fine.

At 4:07pm Clay joined him on the bench. They briefly confirmed that neither of them had seen or heard from George since lunch.

At 4:15pm, the first few light drops of rain began to fall from the sky.

At 4:23pm, Clay got to his feet and began pacing, fingers tapping against his arm.

At 4:38pm, worry had firmly set in. George wasn’t the most punctual but this was a new extreme, and without a text to either Clay or Nick it only became logical that they began to fear the worst.

When lightning struck a few kilometers south, Clay booked an Uber. Nick was trying to find the right level of concern to display outwardly that wouldn’t disclose his true feelings about George to Clay - though he wanted to scream, shout, and tear down the city single-handedly to find him. Odds were, he reasoned with himself, that George had forgotten they were meeting in Callahan and had returned to the safehouse. Equally likely was that he’d gotten the time wrong, and had  _ no idea  _ how much worry he was currently putting his friends through. He’d show up in twenty minutes with McDonalds for them all and have no idea why he was being yelled at.

“The Uber’s just around the corner.” Clay said, and for the first time since their argument the day before he looked to be showing some kind of real emotion. Nick gave a curt nod, and the two shared a moment of silent eye contact before Clay caved and his shoulders fell.

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking to the ground and shoving his hands in his pockets. Nick watched as the rain that fell on Clay’s head travelled over the contours of his face and dripped slowly down from the tip of his nose and chin. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like I did yesterday. It was… A perfectly reasonable request.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” Nick shrugged. “It’s fine. I get it.”

“I do.” Clay said, looking back up. “I do. Because we fought, and now George is missing, and I didn’t get a chance to say sorry to him.”

“He’ll be fine.” Nick said firmly, trying to reassure himself. “He will. He’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot.”

“Yeah.” Clay’s lips pulled together tightly. “That’s my worry. He’s our idiot.”

“He’s not gonna sell us out, if that’s what you’re saying.” Nick narrowed his eyes just a little, suspicion settling in his stomach. George wasn’t a mole. He’d never set them up or act as a double-agent.

“You’re awfully confident about that.” Clay raised an eyebrow as the Uber pulled up to the curb, and he reached for the door handle. “In this line of work, can you really trust anyone?”

With that, he opened the door to the car and clambered inside the back seat, leaving the door open for Nick to follow. He felt uneasy at the mere suggestion that he shouldn’t have complete faith in George. Of course, Clay _was_ right, and Nick knew that deep down he was utterly blinded by his love for the man. Blinded by secret love - hidden love - and the knot in his stomach tightened. It was a mutual decision to keep this part of their life private - though it was one that had first been suggested _by_ George. But it hadn’t been done to manipulate him, right? George just wasn’t the kind of person to use someone he loved.

Except, that was exactly the kind of person he was. He was a criminal. They were all criminals. He  _ couldn’t  _ trust them.

As Nick climbed into the seat beside Clay and closed the door behind him, he stared out the window. He watched the water droplets race down the sheet of glass, trying to figure out which would make it to the bottom first. He tried not to think about how the box in his pocket felt as though it was burning a hole in his leg, and he tried not to think about Clay’s words any longer. He could trust George, and George would be okay.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless you orlando florida for having a district named "callahan", you gave me a joke on a god damn platter
> 
> hope you guys are enjoying! if you are, consider leaving a comment or kudos - it's free & you can always change your mind later ;D


	4. Old Kids on the Block

SATURDAY 28 SEPTEMBER 2019, 00:22:13

WALMART: 28°15'19.5"N 81°18'56.2"W

TEMPERATURE: 77.9°F; PRECIPITATION: 15%; HUMIDITY: 85%; WIND: 3MPH ENE

It was strangely quiet, given everything that had led to this moment.

It was strangely quiet, as the three men stood with guns drawn and loaded.

It was strangely quiet, with the blaring alarms no match for the sound of their breathing.

Blood poured from all three of them, although Ph1lza was in the worst shape of them all. He’d cracked his head open, split his lip, and already taken one bullet to the arm. His suit was covered in blood but it was going to take a hell of a lot more than that to get him to give in. With the Blade and Soot bleeding just as heavily in front of him - the Blade’s suit covered in dirt and torn in places - but still standing determined, it was clear that they intended on giving  _ everything  _ they had to get him to break.

But he wouldn’t. He  _ couldn’t.  _ He’d come so far, he wasn’t going to give up now. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He said through gritted teeth, ignoring the pain he could feel as air passed between his incisors (he’d chipped one and lost another, he was fairly certain).

“You can’t leave.” the Blade replied, his voice raspy. A few minutes ago, the two had been wrestling on the ground and Ph1lza’s hands had been at his throat. 

“I’m not a threat.” He said sternly, and Soot  _ somehow  _ managed to laugh.

“You tried to murder us both.” He pointed out. “That’s what I’d call  _ a threat.” _

“I just want to live in  _ peace.  _ I’m not cut out for this anymore! I’m old, I’m married, I want to have kids and not drag them into this life just because I was too stupid to get out!” Ph1lza said, his voice impassioned and his eyes beseeching the two before him.

“You know everything. Our codes, our hideouts, our plans. You know our contacts in the force, you know where we launder all our money, you  _ can’t  _ walk away from this place.” The Blade said, and Ph1lza could see the limp as he took a step forward. He shifted his own gun so that instead of aiming at Soot, he was aiming at the Blade.

“I took you in as kids, I taught you all of this, we were like  _ family!”  _ He exclaimed. “I’m not going to tell anyone.” Blood from his head dripped down over his eye and the three went back to silence again, heavy breathing filling the space between them. It only lasted for a second before Ph1lza began to speak once more. He was doing his damndest to appeal to their Humanity, but after so many years in this life, Ph1lza questioned if any of them had such a thing left. “If I was going to sell you boys out, why would I have gone to all that trouble? I loved you,  _ both of you,  _ I’m not about to see you locked up or shot. No price is worth that.”

Soot and the Blade shifted, weighing their guns in their hands and glancing at each other to discuss their thoughts silently. It took a moment, but a nod from Soot was all the permission that the Blade seemed to need. Ph1lza had no idea what they’d communicated with each other, but it was enough for the Blade to lower his gun. That meant it was good, right?

Following suit, he lowered his own weapon and held out a bloody hand. 

“We’ve gotta do this quick.” He said. “We’ll go our separate ways before the police show up. I’ll be out of this life and the two of you will be free to continue. Everything I taught you and everything I gave you is yours, I won’t get in your way.”

The Blade stared at his hand a moment longer - and Ph1lza wished that he could stop it from shaking so much - before he stepped forward and took a tight hold of it.

They shook once, twice, and then Ph1lza went to let go. Except, the Blade didn’t. Instead he intensified his grip and squeeze until Ph1lza was  _ certain  _ his fingers were going to rupture through his skin, his muscles, and his bones entirely. His eyes widened in the split second that it took for the Blade to maneuver the two of them so that his head was locked in the crook of his elbow, and he gasped sharply for air before his windpipe was completely cut off by the Blade’s arm.

“Tech--” He managed to choke out. 

“Blade, this isn’t what we agreed!” Soot yelled, lowering his own gun. “Let him go!”

“And risk him ratting us out?!” The Blade yelled at Soot. “The bastard wants out?  _ I’ll give him out.”  _ He spat, and Ph1lza felt the corners of his vision starting to blur as the Blade’s grip tightened further. God, he’d been a glamorous criminal his entire life just to be choked in the back of a Walmart. Shit  _ fucking _ luck. 

“He’s not gonna--”

“Do I have to kill you too?” The Blade barked, cutting Soot off, and for a moment Ph1lza felt the hold on him loosen - just enough for him to take in a breath - as the Blade reached for the gun at his side. “I’ll do it. Blood for the blood God.” 

“You’re a fucking  _ psychopath.”  _ Soot was seething, though Ph1lza’s vision began to fade away as the arm around his neck pressed down again.

“Takes one to know one.” The Blade shrugged.

And, really,  _ he should have seen that coming.  _

“Yeah.” Soot agreed. “It really does.”

Ph1lza heard two shots, in quick succession of each other, but he didn’t spend even a moment thinking about them. He could tell immediately - when he was in no pain - that neither bullet had found him, so as soon as the grip on him relaxed enough for him to shove the Blade to the side he did just that.

And then, he began to run.

Somewhere, he could hear sirens. He knew that it had only been a matter of time until the cops showed up, and he wasn’t hanging around to see what they’d say when they made their way through the building to find the scene he’d left behind. At least the cameras should be down, at least his gun wouldn’t have his fingerprints on it. He didn’t take his gloves off until after he’d pushed through the door - the alarms already having been triggered and giving no clue as to where he’d escaped from - at which point he scrambled over a fence and dived headfirst into  _ whatever  _ the water was. With no one on his immediate trail he didn’t need to dive below the water, and even though the warmth of the Floridian summer was still present, the water was cool enough to chill him. It numbed the pain he felt from his injuries, and helped him to push through.

Phil clambered out on the other side, scaling another fence as he made a terrible - yet  _ brilliant  _ \- decision. Under the cover of night he managed to lift a manhole cover and climb down into the storm drain system that ran beneath the city. No one would look for him there, and even if they did there was no real way of trailing where he’d gone. The paths were unmarked and confusing, which gave him the advantage. He could loop around and follow it to the canal, or he could make his way from there to the lake shore a mile north-east. 

Whatever had happened to the Blade and Soot, Ph1lza didn’t care. For all intensive purposes,  _ Ph1lza  _ was dead. 

_ Phil  _ was free.

But of course, freedom came with a cost. He might have quit the game, but that didn’t mean the game was going to let him leave.

# # #

TUESDAY 22 DECEMBER 2020, 08:38:52

BARAGA, MICHIGAN: 46°46'59.9"N 88°29'07.4"W

TEMPERATURE: 17.6°F; PRECIPITATION: 30%; HUMIDITY: 75%; WIND: 4MPH E

The sun had been above the horizon for less than two minutes when Phil stepped out of his home, and the bitter chill of the morning Michigan air settled deep into his bones. Even with his thermals, his jumper, and a thick winter coat on (topped off with a hat, scarf and gloves knitted by Kristin) he could still feel the cold. It encouraged him to turn his key in the lock faster before looking down to the dog sitting patiently at his side.

“C’mon.” He said, his breath clouding in front of his face. The dog barked, and he chuckled quietly to himself. “Let’s go walkies, we’ll warm up that way.”

With leash in hand, he walked down the icy wooden platform and followed the paved slabs of his drive to the roadside. There wasn’t a sidewalk here, but there didn’t need to be one. The village of Baraga was beautiful, but small. It was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else, and everyone knew everyone’s business. When Phil and Kirstin had arrived a little over a year ago there had been the small town suspicion that they’d expected, but they quickly remedied that. They visited their neighbours with homemade pies (pumpkin for Mr and Mrs Leroy at 113, apple for the Jenkins family at 108, and Rhubarb for old Mrs Smith at 107), adopted a dog (Rex, from a nearby shelter, who bounded along at Phil’s side and followed him like a shadow), and never lost their cool even after the seventeenth time that Mrs Williamson asked (very loudly over the post office counter) if they were expecting children yet.

It was different to living in the city, but that’s what Phil had wanted.  _ Different.  _ And Kristin had been more than happy to follow him. He hadn’t kept his past life a secret from her, she knew who he’d been and most of what he’d done and she’d agreed that starting a new life, states away from the old one, was the best decision for them.

The last place that Phil wanted to be, right now, was Florida.

He wasn’t in Florida, though. Now he was walking along State Avenue, down to the tiny marina at the edge of Lake Superior. It was his usual route with Rex and after letting the dog do his business on the shore, he’d head back to the heart of the village and do a lap before going back home. It was nearly Christmas, and they were going to make this year special. Not counting Rex it was going to be the last year it was just the two of them (news that  _ hadn’t  _ yet been shared with Mrs Williamson - the entire village would know a matter of hours after she did), and they were looking forward to spending the day together. The tree was up, their home was decorated, and they had everything planned for dinner and a couple of small presents wrapped (though they were saving their money for their new arrival in early summer). It was going to be a perfect Christmas, and next year was going to be the best year of their life together so far. 

He took a small black bag from his pocket, cleaned up after Rex, and the two began their walk back into the village. Despite the cold they continued their stroll at a leisurely pace, enjoying the quiet as the world slowly began to awaken. The pair crossed over the railroad and continued down the road, taking a left at the bank on the corner. Phil’s old life always flashed before his eyes when he visited the bank, and he wondered if it would ever leave him. He wondered if there’d ever be a day where regret didn’t sink into his stomach and leave him feeling too nauseous to eat, or if there’d be a day where he’d be able to actually step foot inside the bank without his heart pounding and his lungs squeezing out every last bit of air inside of them as panic gripped him. 

That morning, he was pulled out of his mind by the sounds of sirens. He’d almost been certain they were in his head - memories haunting him as he continued to walk down the street - but they’d disappeared with the wind rather than with the fading echoes in his mind. Thinking nothing more of them, Phil continued down the road and stopped twice to speak with the neighbours he bumped into. If he’d told himself a year and a half ago that this would be where he was, he’d never have believed himself. Even a year ago, after he’d left the Blade and Soot behind, he didn’t expect things to have gone so well. He’d expected to be dead in a grave the pair forced him to dig in some backwater town in Alabama, or to come home one day and find his beloved dog killed on his porch. He was glad that none of those things had ever come to pass, though he often found himself wondering  _ why  _ they hadn’t.

Maybe they’d been caught. Maybe those two shots fired at each other meant they couldn’t escape the police. Maybe they were serving time in prison somewhere. He could look it up, but he didn’t want to. That life was behind him now, it didn’t matter to him what they were or weren’t doing with their lives. So long as they weren’t interfering with his, that would be enough.

He turned right when he reached 5th Street, heading up the gentle incline with Rex pulling him along, and by the time they reached Bowling Avenue and were starting to head home the sun had risen a few degrees higher above the horizon. Its rays made the water sparkle and Phil smiled, admiring the beauty of the place he lived in as he walked. His life here was perfect. He was so lucky to have been given a second chance.

It was a twenty minute walk home from there, and the time passed quickly. When he was at the junction between Oak Street and North Superior Avenue he felt a vibration in his pocket and stopped in his tracks, thinking back to the state of the fridge when he’d left that morning. He was  _ sure  _ he’d left some milk still in the carton for Kristin to make her tea, but maybe he’d had the last of the bread and forgotten about it. Sighing, he answered the phone and brought it to his ear.

“Heya love, what do we need?” He asked. “I’m a few minutes past the shop but I can--”

“Ph1lza.” 

Oh no. That voice wasn’t Kristin. That voice was  _ very much  _ not that of his wife, but it  _ was  _ her phone. Phil was no idiot, and his mind began leaping to conclusions. Of course, looking further up the street to see blue and red flashing lights illuminating the side of his house, he knew that the conclusions he came to weren’t that much of a stretch. 

His grip tightened on his phone and Phil steeled himself, pushing his shoulders back. He barely blinked or breathed, eyes unmoving as he began to speak.

“What do you want?” 

“You were told you couldn’t leave.” 

He grit his teeth. The voice on the other end of the phone didn’t sound like the Blade or Soot, and he didn’t doubt they’d pay someone to do their dirty work for them, but it surprised him that it had taken so long for them to put this plan into action. Maybe they really  _ had  _ been caught.

“I left.” Phil replied simply. He knew what was coming, and he knew that they knew he did. 

“You’re coming back now, Phil.” He was told, and he knew there was no room for argument. 

“You’ll let Kristin go? Leave her unharmed?” He demanded, and the voice laughed.

“You’re good at this.” The  _ ‘s’  _ was held, morphing into a hiss, and he rolled his eyes. Whoever they’d hired to help them must have been expecting him to put up more of a fight, but they’d gone straight for his weak spot. He wasn’t going to play along and fulfil this stranger’s fantasy, but he’d take his place in whatever game that the Blade and Soot were playing.

“Let her go and I’ll be on the first plane back to Florida. I’ll tell you where my passport is in the house and you can bring it to me. If you feel the need to tie me up and throw me in the trunk of your car, that’s fine, do what you must to feel like you’ve done what the Blade and Soot have asked of you, but leave Kristin alone.”

There was a moment of silence, a beat during which Phil assumed the person on the other end of the phone was looking around disappointed at his lack of bite, before he heard a growl.

“Look out the window and you’ll be able to see me.” Phil said. While he was too far away from his home to make out faces, when he saw the curtains covering the window move he raised a hand and waved. “I’ll stay put, my passport is in the top drawer of the bedside table, Kristin will be able to show you where it is if you’re not sure which room to go in. I’ll come with you, I’ll do everything you say and you’ll get whatever payment you’ve been offered with no hassle. But if you lay a  _ finger  _ on my wife, I’ll  _ burn you.”  _ His threat wasn’t empty, even if the man he was threatening had the upper hand in the situation. Still, it was more than enough for him to spring into action.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Phil stood still, watching the house and listening closely to the call - just in case he could pick up on any sounds of distress coming from his wife. Aside from her begging the man not to take him away - not to hurt him - she seemed fine. He knew that  _ fine  _ was the wrong word to use in this situation, but she wasn’t being physically harmed. There was nothing he could do but protect her physical health right now. 

When someone emerged he realised that the police car had been a cover, and whoever had been sent to bring him back to the Blade and Soot had driven up in it to deter any local law enforcement from attending. He hummed to himself, rating the plan in his mind, before he let Rex’s leash go. It was only a short distance from here to home and he would be able to make his way back easily, and Phil wasn’t about to put his dog in danger. The Blade and Soot wanted him back so they’d get him back, but he wasn’t going to let them harm those he loved.

As the police car pulled up in front of him, Phil threw his phone on the road just in front of it and watched as the front left tyre crushed it - screen cracking and electronics crunching. 

True to his word, he put up no resistance, even being so bold as to sit up front beside the driver.

“Florida, then?” Phil asked, not expecting any kind of small talk in return. “At least it’s warmer there, I suppose.”

But his wife would be safe. Their child would be safe. His dog would be safe. Maybe, one day, he’d make it home. Maybe he’d be allowed to continue the perfect life he’d been living. As the car pulled away from the roadside and followed Route 41 north to Houghton County Airport, he found himself assuming that wouldn’t come true. 

A little over an hour later he was in the air, and by the time that the sun started to set he was changing into a suit that had been bought for him (a little tight - Soot and the Blade clearly hadn’t expected him to put on as much weight as he had during his year out) in a safehouse just south of Orlando. Despite everything that had happened between the three of them there seemed to be no hard feelings held, something that made Phil all the more suspicious of everything they were planning. He had no choice but to play along, though. They knew where his wife lived, and they knew that he was with them and powerless to protect her. 

Whether he wanted to be or not, Ph1lza was back in the game.

# # #

TUESDAY 27 JULY 2021, 20:15:09

PARKING LOT, 7TH STORY: 28°33'17.6"N 81°22'43.6"W

TEMPERATURE: 84.6°F; PRECIPITATION: 3%; HUMIDITY: 85%; WIND: 3MPH NNE

Soot was not having a fun time. 

Stakeouts were never particularly fun, but they were even less so when the bulk of time was spent watching two grown men sitting far too close to just be  _ associates,  _ or even  _ friends.  _ Word on the street had always been that NotFound and Dream were the ones dating, so for it to be NotFound and Sapnap… 

Soot didn’t care. He’d just like them to finish their meal and stop fucking eating each other’s mouths.

“Are they nearly done?” The Blade asked. The moment he’d realised what was going on he’d looked away entirely. Where Soot didn’t care much for public displays of affection, the Blade was utterly repulsed by it.

“Nearly.” Soot replied with a sigh. “Why couldn’t you have tracked Dream? He’s the one  _ not  _ snogging the living daylights out of his co-workers.”

“We don’t know for sure that he isn’t making out with someone else.” The Blade shrugged. “We have what we need. We’ve seen them, we know that NotFound is being tracked, we’re hardly going to be able to make a pickup tonight if they’re together.”

Soot let out a quiet groan, folding his arms across each other and resting them on top of the concrete, before resting his head on top of them.

“It’s another day we don’t have them, though.” He said. “If we don’t get them, someone else  _ might.” _

“Who else is looking for them?” The Blade asked. “The cops don’t give a shit, there’s no other gang organised enough to find them, it’s just us. We’ve got time.”

A light gust of wind blew through Soot’s hair as he continued to watch below, the time passing painfully slowly as they two men oblivious to their presence enjoyed themselves. It was hard to believe that these were the same two men that had broken a man off death row, though he supposed that was the point of what they were doing. Hiding in plain sight. Aside from a little facial hair, it was obvious who they were.

But maybe that was because they were looking.

“C’mon. Ph1lza will start asking questions if we aren’t back soon.” The Blade said. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“You still haven’t told him?” Soot asked, turning to look back at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“He doesn’t need to know about this just yet, he’d only try to stop us. You know how he is now.”

“Soft.” Soot said, and the Blade nodded. With one final glance to the restaurant across the road Soot pushed himself up, brushing down the dust from his dark jeans and stretching his arms above his head. His left didn’t quite stretch all the way up, still not bending properly almost two years after the fight. He didn’t  _ blame  _ the Blade for shooting him - he’d done the same, after all - but it was a little inconvenient to say the least.

They were at least  _ tracking  _ NotFound now, and the irony wasn’t lost on Wilbur. It was the reason he chuckled to himself as the Blade got to his own feet. 

“Fancy a walk?”

“Uber.” Soot replied, to which the Blade just rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. As he navigated through the app, the two started their slow descent through the parking lot. Soot took the opportunity to glance out of each level that they descended, just in case something changed, but nothing ever did. 

It wasn’t until they reached the second story that Soot glanced across the road to see Sapnap standing alone.

“Tech--” Soot said, extending an arm. “Do you think--”

“I am  _ not  _ involving an Uber driver in a kidnapping.” He said flatly, his eyes following Soot’s to see what he was looking at. “They already charge unreasonable prices. I don’t need the criminal surcharge, or the poor rating, thanks very much.”

Sapnap glanced in their direction and they resumed their walk away from him, knowing that they were far enough from the edge to be hidden by shadows. Soot wasn’t happy to let them walk another day, but the Blade was right, no one else was looking for them.

Still, Soot didn’t take his eyes off the men even once as they bundled up in the back of their Uber. He watched as Sapnap and NotFound crossed the street and started to head south along the sidewalk. Until the car had driven them far enough away that it was impossible to pick them apart from the rest of the crowd his eyes tracked them, and when they were gone his hands clenched into tight fists.

“Patience, Wilbur.” Technoblade said, his voice much softer than before. “We’ll see them again tomorrow.”

# # #

WEDNESDAY 28 JULY 2021, 14:17:27

CENTRAL ORLANDO: 28°32'48.4"N 81°22'44.5"W

TEMPERATURE: 96.3°F; PRECIPITATION: 36%; HUMIDITY: 95%; WIND: 9MPH ENE

The funny thing about movies was just how  _ wrong  _ they were when it came to the life of a criminal. Sure, every modern day mobster worth his salt had taken part in a police shootout, and they all knew how to take care of bullet wounds - be it their own or an associates - but rarely were there intense, loud, and  _ obvious  _ kidnappings. That just wouldn’t work. The entire point of kidnapping someone was to do it discreetly, without being caught. Drawing attention to yourself just meant that someone would remember, and that would  _ always  _ be enough to tip off law enforcement. Of course, it was a little different when the parties involved were all wanted criminals, but the Blade and Soot knew that the cops would swoop into their location like a hawk if they found out who they’d taken. NotFound might not be worth much on a normal day, but two weeks after breaking Dream out of prison he’d be worth his weight in gold.

It meant that they had to have this planned out perfectly, because being even a step out of place would have dire consequences. They knew where the cameras of the city were and they knew exactly which line to take on the sidewalk to avoid their faces being caught on them. 

Soot was parked just out of view, and the Blade was standing across the road from the City National Bank. NotFound was inside, and when he came out there was going to be only one place he’d go: across the road, behind the construction site. Except the Blade was standing between the bank and the construction site, with an M1911 pistol in his pocket. His right hand was wrapped tightly around the stock, his finger teasing the trigger, and his eyes didn’t leave the back of the man standing at the counter.

Seeing NotFound here gave them a little extra information that - had they extracted him last night like they’d hoped to - they would never have obtained. It seemed their opponents were planning something. The Blade was impressed, he truly was, but then he knew better than to underestimate the Dream Team. Still, it amazed him that even  _ they  _ were stupid enough to be planning a heist so soon after breaking Dream out of prison.

Maybe being on death row had scared him.

Another few minutes passed, and NotFound turned on the balls of his feet. Even from the distance the Blade could see the sickeningly sweet - and overtly fake - smile that was plastered all over his face while he waved goodbye to the woman at the counter. He counted the footsteps that it took him to walk across the bank, watched him look to his right, and shifted only when the man started to cross the road.

NotFound seemed to think he was safe. He seemed to think that the only danger he was in had been  _ inside  _ the bank, and he hadn’t accounted for anything being of concern once he was across the road. The Blade could tell this not just from the way that he looked down and smiled playfully, but from the way that his body immediately tensed up when he slid and arm around NotFound’s waist as he passed by. The movement was so fluid, so simple, that no one else saw and neither party stopped walking: one moment NotFound was walking alone and the next he was walking with the Blade at his side.

“That’s an M1911 pistol pressed against your coccyx.” The Blade said quietly, pushing the barrel of the gun just a little more firmly against the back of NotFound’s shirt. “If I were you, I’d keep quiet and keep walking. We’ve got a ride sorted, you don’t need to worry about finding your way back to your friends.”

Even as they walked side by side, the Blade could tell that NotFound was looking for a way out. His eyes were scanning the horizon to find something he could use to escape, his mind must have been working overtime to try and figure out if there was  _ any way  _ he could gain the upperhand over the Blade, but he knew that every eventuality was covered. Not just that, but Soot was just a few hundred yards away. NotFound could attack him, but Soot would shoot the man dead before his own heart had stopped beating. They knew that NotFound was alone, too. That he, Sapnap and Dream had all gone their separate ways a few hours ago. They outnumbered him.

NotFound’s shoulders sagged helplessly as they walked, and the Blade smirked.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll understand, but once you’re in the car we’re going to have to blindfold you, restrain you, and knock you out. Can’t have you knowing where you’re going, just in case.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, Blade.” NotFound replied flatly. 

“Oh, and thank you.” He said with a smile. “Buying that car in Folkston really  _ was  _ a good idea.”

“He work for you?” NotFound asked.

“Anyone will work for us for the right price.” The Blade replied, turning the two of them and leading NotFound toward a very ordinary looking car. It wasn’t black with tinted windows, instead it was red, with perfectly normal windows and the exact amount of trash you’d expect to find. The footwell in the passenger seat had a couple of McDonalds bags in it, there were several empty Starbucks cups in the holders, nothing that would attract any kind of attention if anyone looked inside. 

The Blade placed a firm hand on NotFound’s shoulder and held him in place as he reached to open the back door, before promptly stuffing the man inside. Rather than immediately close the door behind him, he pulled a zip tie from his pocket and forcefully yanked NotFound’s arms behind his back where he then fastened it around the older man’s wrists. Happy that he wasn’t going to be capable of making an escape in the few seconds it would take him to walk around the back of the car, the Blade closed the door.

Once he clambered in on the other side Soot locked the doors and started to drive, and the Blade continued with each step that he’d informed NotFound of before. Sure, he was a criminal, but he was honest when he didn’t  _ need  _ to lie.

“Don’t worry.” He said with a misplaced kindness in his smile. “This won’t hurt. We’re saving  _ that fun  _ for later.” 

The Blade didn’t miss the snarl that NotFound gave him, but he didn’t care all that much for it. With his arms restrained behind him he was all bark and no bite, and as he poured a little chloroform onto the rag that he was going to hold in front of the Brit’s nose and mouth to gently knock him out he could only chuckle.

“You’ll be home soon.” The Blade said. “And then you can sell out your little boyfriend. And Dream, we’ve not forgotten about him.” He didn’t miss the wince when his free hand moved behind NotFound’s head, but there was nothing the older could do when the cloth was brought to his face.

“Goodnight, little George.” He whispered as the man’s eyes fluttered closed before him. The last thing that NotFound would have seen before slipping unconscious would have been the piercing eyes and the toothy grin that filled the Blade’s face entirely. “Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! we've finally met our friends in sbi! wonder what they're gonna do now they have dear gogy :]
> 
> as always, if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a kudos or comment. it's free, & it means the world to me!


	5. A Storm Approaches

FRIDAY 29 JULY 2021, 00:07:31

SUBURBAN ORLANDO: 28°31'37.3"N 81°21'59.4"W

TEMPERATURE: 79.2°F; PRECIPITATION: 100%; HUMIDITY: 100%; WIND: 23MPH NNE

Rain lashed against the window, the constant drumbeat a reminder for the two men to cover up the glass with wood. Hurricane Grace - as she was now formally known - had rapidly intensified over the last few hours. She was yet to make landfall, but the strong outer winds of the hurricane and the rain that came with her were already making themselves known. 

Not that either Nick or Clay cared all that much about the wind or the rain. Right now their attention was focused on the crackling, static coming from the old police radio - Nick wearing a headset and listening to the garbled words and Clay working to keep the signal as strong as possible. George was the best at operating it, but he was still missing and so Clay was their next best bet. Nick sat and wrote down what he could hear, and Clay read the notes as he wrote them. So far there was nothing to help them in their search.

As the hours had passed since they’d returned home, Nick had gone through every emotion known to man.

Clay’s words before stepping into the Uber had haunted Nick for what had felt like an eternity, and at one point he’d found himself truly questioning if he  _ could  _ trust George. Of course he could, he reasoned, because they weren’t just criminals, they weren’t  _ associates,  _ their relationship wasn’t as conditional as their friendship with Clay was - however close the three of them were - and after second guessing himself until they’d eaten dinner he settled to be panicked instead.

There was a lot that could have gone wrong, some eventualities worse than others. If George had blown his cover then maybe he’d run. Maybe when he got to a safehouse he’d use one of their many burner phones and make contact. That theory had lasted until around nine pm, when he could feasibly have made it to South Carolina. They didn’t have any safehouses that far out. Nick’s mind had then been able to focus on the  _ worse  _ outcomes. Maybe he’d been caught by the police, maybe he was locked up in a cell in a police station somewhere. Although if that were the case, he assumed he’d have heard  _ something  _ on the police radio. They’d come into the equipment years ago and in all that time they were the subject of conversation more often than not. It helped when someone was stationed at a safehouse during a job - they could direct the others away from where the police were trying to pin them down - but it meant now that  _ not  _ hearing about George was a real cause for concern. It meant that whatever had happened to him it was neither a police matter nor something he could handle alone.

It meant now they were holding out hope that they’d hear of a shooting, or a kidnapping, or a robbery, with a name familiar enough that it could reasonably be someone targeting their crew. He’d heard a couple of calls that night that weren’t to do with the approaching storm: Mr. Schlatt was rumoured to be expanding from his white collar crime; a duo going by the names of Tommy and Tubbo had been released from a police station, pending investigation; and a number of smaller criminals were taking advantage of empty properties left behind by those evacuating the city before the storm truly hit. 

Clay sat back in his seat for a moment, the floorboards creaking beneath his chair, and he groaned as his arms were raised above his head. Nick pushed one side of his headphones off his ear and turned his head just a little to glance at him, wordlessly asking if he was  _ okay.  _

“Tired.” He admitted, his hands moving from above him to in front of his face, rubbing at his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We’ll get something soon.” Nick said. “Then we’ll get him, then you can sleep.”

Clay hummed and Nick tapped the side of his pen against the notepad he’d been writing on as he listened to more drivel about the storm. He heard the words  _ category two  _ thrown around and wrote them down quickly, as a reminder in case things took a quick turn for the worst. 

“Sorry for shouting, by the way.” Clay said, and when Nick looked away from the paper he saw Clay pouting, hands in his lap, eyes looking away. He chuckled to himself quietly, shaking his head.

Just because they were in a rough business, and it was that business that brought them together, didn’t stop them from being friends. It didn’t stop them from being young adults either - they were twenty and twenty one, after all - and this was just how their friendship  _ was.  _

“Yeah.” Nick said, a small smile creeping onto his face. “If you’re so sorry, why don’t you prove it to me?” 

He was still looking enough in Clay’s direction to catch his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline and his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. Nick laughed at his reaction, even  _ if  _ Clay was still trying to keep an expression on his face that would guilt trip Nick into feeling sorry for him. When Clay looked up and made eye contact - and Nick made it damn obvious that it wasn’t going to work - he tried a new tactic.

“Maybe if it were George I were apologising to, I would.” He retorted, and Nick shifted.

This was the one thing he hated about keeping their relationship private.

“I’m sure he’d love that.” He replied, his voice a little more strained than he’d have liked it to be before he focused his attention back on the radio. The ring box in his pocket burned so much hotter at the mention of Clay and George being together, and he swore it was causing him physical pain.

They returned to sitting in near silence again, the only sounds the scratching of the pen nib against paper and the howling of strong gusts outside. The conversation over the radio continued to focus on evacuations and Clay got to his feet to work on boarding up the windows while no important information was discussed. Nick listened as footsteps moved away from him, and when he heard Clay shifting planks of wood by the door he decided to speak.

“Thank you.” 

There was one hit of a hammer against a nail, then the sound of clothes rustling as Clay twisted his upper body to look at Nick. The lights in the room flickered.

“For what?” Clay asked, gesturing with his free hand by waving his hammer around. 

“Helping me.” Nick finished.

“Helping you?” He raised an eyebrow. “How have I helped you?”

“You covered for me. I could’ve gone to jail.”

“For  _ that?!”  _ Clay scoffed, shaking his head. “Dude, that was like, five years ago. You’ve already repaid me, you don’t need to thank me.”

“But I never did.” Nick pointed out. “I never thanked you, and you saved my ass. You didn’t have to.”

“You had potential.” Clay shrugged. “Learned fast enough. Stopped hitting old ladies with your car pretty quick. You’re a damn good getaway driver now. I mean, you flew a helicopter a couple weeks ago! I guess there’s not really many old women wandering around in the sky. Or red lights.”

“I’m thanking you and that’s how you repay me?” Nick brought a hand to his chest in mock offense. “By taking the piss?”

“I repaid you by making sure you didn’t get sent to prison for manslaughter and by letting you work for me until you earned enough to pay back your debt rather than just taking everything you and your family owned.”

“There I was thinking you did that because we were friends.”

“We became friends  _ after.  _ I don’t like befriending people that owe me. Feels gross.”

As Nick laughed, Clay went back to putting wood up over their windows. 

_ “That’s  _ where you draw the line? Bank robbery is okay, manslaughter is fine, murdering dozens of cops is peachy, but being friends with someone that owes you?”

“Shut the fuck up dude.” Clay laughed with him, and the threats of the days prior were forgotten. It was an unhealthy friendship, sure, but they knew what they were getting into. They were all criminals, it was never going to be  _ good.  _

For a while, Clay busied himself with fortifying their safehouse. He zipped up a coat and took a few boards and nails outside briefly to cover the windows from both sides and to start putting out sandbags where water could find a way in. They were far enough inland to not have to worry about any storm surges made worse by the tides, but the lake across the road presented a threat from flash flooding. And they might be  _ long  _ gone before the storm really hit.

Nick had wandered away from the police radio to get a snack - throwing hot pockets into the microwave and waiting for them to heat up before heading back to sit down and listen again. When he returned he took a bite out of the first and pulled the headset back over his ears while he chewed.

“--warehouse west of Orlando. There were reports of the vehicle pulling off the highway in Oakland, matches up with CCTV from the city too.”

Nick frowned, his tongue coming out from between his lips to lap up the residual grease left behind from the cheese, and he picked up his pen with one hand to start writing.  _ Warehouse. Oakland.  _

“Did they give a description?”

“Tall, male, brown hair with glasses.” The conversation over the radio continued and Nick took another bite. “Sat in the back of the car when it drove off, he had an accomplice. By the looks of it, darker brown hair, curly, also wearing glasses. The report came through this afternoon, didn’t get processed until now because of the storm.”

“I can have officers heading out that way now, but they’d be taken off evacuations.”

“Focus on getting people out. We can monitor the situation from here. If there’s any movement we’ll know, and we’ll send people out from HQ.” 

Nick stared at his notes. His stomach was churning, something about the words that were exchanged over the radio told him that this kidnapping could  _ only be  _ one person. It made too much sense  _ not  _ to be him, right? And his gut was never wrong. When he heard the door opening he looked up from his notes and over his shoulder to see a soaked and windswept Clay stepping back inside, letting out a sigh as he shrugged off his coat.

“It’s fucking  _ awful--” _

“-- I think I found him.” Nick said. “Kidnapping this afternoon, two men involved, they’ve gone to Oakland.”

There was a moment of pause, silence falling over the safehouse. Nick knew this was their best lead - they’d had nothing else all night and even though he’d only heard half the conversation, he  _ knew.  _ They needed to get to Oakland as soon as possible. He watched as Clay considered, his thought process obvious on his face, and he started to pull his coat back on.

“Give me one of those hot pockets and I’ll drive.” He said as Nick got to his own feet and scrambled to grab guns from the back of the house. They always had pistols on them, but if this was an organised job - if someone had picked up George and taken him to a warehouse - then they weren’t dealing with just  _ anyone.  _ Better to go over prepared than not prepared at all. 

So a little over a minute later, guns and ammunition gathered, coats pulled on and hot pockets redistributed, Dream was sitting behind the wheel of their car and Sapnap was shotgun, pulling up directions for the fastest way to Oakland. 

“408’s closed.” Sapnap said as Dream reversed out, the headlights of the car showing just how heavy the rain was - and how horizontal. “Head south, take the turnpike, tolls are suspended because of the evacuation. Thirty minutes and we’ll be there.”

“Twenty if we speed.”

“And forty with traffic if we don’t.” Sapnap replied. “It cancels out.”

Without another word from either of them, the car was in drive and screeching forward, splashing through puddles that covered the tarmac. Aside from their headlights it was dark - the occasional distant lightning strike illuminating the skyline - until they joined the freeway. Then it was a painfully long nose-to-tail journey to Oakland.

It took closer to an hour to arrive, and both Sapnap and Dream hoped they weren’t too late. 

# # #

FRIDAY 29 JULY 2021, 03:12:59

WAREHOUSE, OAKLAND: 28°33'08.3"N 81°37'53.9"W

TEMPERATURE: 83.1°F; PRECIPITATION: 100%; HUMIDITY: 100%; WIND: 42MPH ENE

Pulling off the main highway might have looked like an abnormal move to those fleeing the effects of Hurricane Grace, but both Dream and Sapnap knew it was the right thing to do. Dream pulled up as close as they could to the warehouse in question - the pair having tried to narrow down  _ where  _ in Oakland Notfound could possibly be kept - and they reached for the guns in the back seats. If he wasn’t there, at least now they were in the right part of the state, and with everyone else leaving it would be easy enough to search the town until they located Notfound.

Sapnap stepped out first, the car door being practically blown off its hinges the moment he pushed it open, and he struggled to close it again. Dream had the same issue. The wind was picking up, and the two of them were dripping wet from head to toe the moment they clambered out of the vehicle. The rain was too heavy and too fast for their coats to make any real difference, and the wind was strong enough to keep their hoods from staying up for too long. 

Years of working so closely together came in handy. Unable to talk across the storm without yelling - something that could alert any potential inhabitants of the building to their presence - Dream gave Sapnap a look and the man knew what he had to do. Without question, and in perfect synchronisation, the two men split off and began to roam around the side of the building to find a way in. As with any other building, the doors and windows had all been barricaded shut, but there was  _ always  _ a weak spot. 

Dream found it. 

Sapnap met him after circling three quarters of the building, finding him using the butt of a gun to open up a door hurriedly. Brute force didn’t typically go well with a quiet, incognito approach, but the storm did a good job of hiding the sounds they made. Lightning flashed - closer this time - and thunder rumbled. 

Dream timed the last hit with his gun with the thunder and the door opened, the darkness giving the two a moment to sneak in and close the door behind them without any shadows being cast that might give them away. It was easily put back into place - Sapnap dragging the sandbags from outside in with them and using them to put weight on the door so that it wouldn't open again, though if they hadn’t been heard entering at this point it was unlikely that any resident of the building would hear their approach at all.

The next part was a little more difficult, though, and required a little more finesse and care. Rather than storming around outside looking for a way in they suddenly had to care about the sounds of their footsteps, the sounds of their breathing, and the sounds of others. The pair spent a moment preparing themselves where they’d entered the building, scanning the plain walls of their surroundings to look for a clue to tell them which way to go.

Said clue came in the form of a blood curling, ear piercing, scream: a scream that Sapnap could  _ easily  _ recognise as Notfound’s. And as Notfound would have considered himself to be alone in the building with whoever had abducted and captured him, that wasn’t a cry for help: it was a scream of pain.

Someone was  _ hurting  _ Notfound. 

Sapnap’s hands tightened around his gun and his body visibly tensed, enough that even Dream had to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. They were there now, whatever was going on wouldn’t be taking place much longer, but they still needed to be careful. One wrong move could be fatal not just for them, but for Notfound too.

The two crouched, staying low to the ground and moving slowly to try and compensate for the squeaking sounds of waterlogged boots as they moved through the dark corridors of the building. There were several different businesses all in one here, but the only one they were interested in was the warehouse that Notfound was being kept in. They ignored the signs for the vets, and passed by the upholstery without care, eventually finding that the corridor they were in finally had a light at the end of it. Only a little - the tiniest slither creeping underneath a set of double doors - but what they could see was bright as hell.

Another scream came, louder than before now that they were closer, and they could more clearly hear what was going on. 

“You’re not making this any  _ fuckin’  _ easier on yourself.” One voice came. 

“I don’t give a shit.” Notfound spat back, and Sapnap was impressed. Despite the pain he was in there was still fight in him. 

“Just tell us… Where they are…” That was a different voice, one that made Dream snarl, and Sapnap started to put two and two together. 

Oh, this was  _ so much worse  _ than he’d first thought.

“And I told you,  _ no.”  _ Notfound replied.

There was a beat of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the wind outside gusting once more. The building creaked a little in light of the storm, the rain pounded against the roof, everything was still. Ominously still. There was a faint sound of metal clinking, like a tool of some kind was being picked up, and then there was an almighty crash.

“What the fuck?!” Notfound yelled.

“Fucking  _ stay down,  _ you bitch.” The first voice repeated. Sapnap looked to Dream for confirmation of his worst fears and the older nodded. He swallowed.  _ Soot.  _

“I’m gonna make it a little harder for you to bite your tongue, alright?” The Blade said, voice like honey and dripping with venom. 

“You aren’t gonna do  _ shit  _ to me.” Notfound replied angrily, and there was laughter from the two other men in the room with him. A look from Dream told Sapnap that now wasn’t the time to break the door down and enter, but it was the only thing holding him back from running in without a care in the world. Whatever they were doing to Notfound, he was going to be the one to make them pay for it.

“Funny.” Soot said, and even through the door Sapnap could hear the smirk on his face. “You don’t look like you’re in any position to tell us what we can and can’t do.”

After that there was the sound of a heavy, steel toed boot crashing down on a shoulder - a dull thud and a grunt of pain - followed by something else. Notfound was trying to scream, Sapnap could hear his best efforts, but there was something in his mouth that stopped him from doing so. Despite whatever blockage there was, he still persevered, and with every passing second he tried harder. He cried out louder and louder until Sapnap had to bring his hands to his ears. He  _ couldn’t  _ listen any longer.

He still heard the final cry and a clatter of metal against concrete as laughter filled the room again, trying to cover the sound of Notfound’s sobs.

“So,  _ George,  _ do you want to try telling us again?” The Blade asked menacingly, and to his credit Notfound responded in a similar manner as before.

“I’m not giving you  _ anything.”  _ His words sounded different - slurred from pain and muffled by tears - but he wasn’t backing down without a fight.

“He wants to protect his pretty little boyfriend.” Soot piped up, and Sapnap’s heart stopped.

How the  _ fuck  _ did they know?

“How noble.” The Blade said flatly, clearly unimpressed. “Unfortunately, Ph1LzA is the married one, and he’s not here right now. He’s too soft. So I’m afraid your desire to protect the man you love isn’t going to change our minds about  _ how  _ we extract information from you.”

“We will get it.” Soot said. “We can be very patient. This is just the express method. Pull a couple of teeth, break a few bones, you get the picture.” 

“But if you don’t want to talk now, then we can leave you.” The Blade said calmly. “We can leave you here with the lights as bright as hell - we’ve got a backup generator to keep them going if the storm knocks out the power. You won’t be able to sleep, you’ll have no food, no water, no company. Eventually, if you don’t die, you’ll be driven mad. So it’s a choice, George. Tell us now, or tell us later. What’s it gonna be?”

There wasn’t time for Notfound to come to a decision. Sapnap didn’t give a damn about consequences, not now. He got to his feet, cocked his gun and moved his finger to the trigger of the Colt M4 Carbine that he carried, kicking the door open with the heel of his boot and stepping into the room ready to fire.

“Hands where I can fucking  _ see them!”  _ He yelled at the top of his lungs, startling Soot and the Blade into jumping and reaching for their own guns. In the same second that the two of them aimed, Dream made his way to Sapnap’s side, and the two men squinted against the bright lights that shone in their faces.

The four now stood, facing each other, in a stalemate. Sapnap looked down the barrel of Soot’s gun, who looked down the barrel of Dream’s, who looked down the barrel of the Blade’s, who Sapnap was aiming at. Whoever blinked first, whoever gave in and twitched their finger an inch, would guarantee the death of the others. They were all a fast enough shot to take out the one they were aiming at before they hit the floor.

“Well, I suppose we should have expected company.” The Blade muttered.

“Pity it was you.” Soot said, and Sapnap growled.

“You wanted us, you have us.  _ Let Notfound go.” _

“Oh,  _ George  _ is staying with us.” The Blade said. “We wanted  _ all  _ of you, not you for him. This was never going to be a trade. You’ve really just saved us a lot of work actually  _ finding you.” _

“I’m sure we have,  _ Dave.”  _ Dream replied, and the utterance of the name of his enemy earned gasps from not just Soot and the Blade, but from Sapnap too. It was a new low, utter disrespect, and it was enough for the Blade to move his gun from Sapnap to Dream.

“Call me that again and I’ll shoot you so many times that the fucking  _ hurricane  _ will be the god damn colour of your innards. There won’t be a piece of your DNA left in this state, and the parts of your body that remain in large enough pieces to be seen by the naked eye will be so scattered across the rest of the continent that it would take a decade to reassemble you. Understand?”

Dream said nothing, his mouth contorting into a number of different expressions. The Blade clearly took his silence as a lesson learned, and he moved his aim back to Sapnap.

“What do you want us for?” Sapnap asked, trying to clear the air. They were criminals, they were all  _ dangerous  _ criminals, but they could still converse before someone died.

“Leeway.” Soot replied, the two managing to be a little more civil than the Blade and Dream who were now locked in a fierce staring contest. They’d been rivals far longer than Sapnap had even been in the game, and whenever he’d asked Dream  _ why  _ he had such a hatred for the man he’d only been met with excuses to get out of the conversation. He supposed, if he knew the Blade’s birth name, it must have been something from a long time ago.

“Leeway?” Sapnap repeated, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “What  _ leeway  _ do you think you’re going to get out of us being here?”

“You broke Dream off death row, the entire world heard about it. If we give you all back to the cops, they’ll turn a blind eye to us for a little while. Make our lives easier in two ways.”

“That’s it?” Dream spoke up. “You just want your lives to be  _ easier?!”  _

“I’m sure we’ll still get plenty of leeway if we hand them two alive, and one corpse.” The Blade threatened, turning his gun to Dream once more. “Whaddya say?”

“Nick--?” 

Sapnap’s attention was taken away from Soot and the Blade when Notfound whispered his name. He’d refused to look at the man he loved until now - afraid of what he might see - and he’d been right to think that way. The man was on the ground, ankles and wrists restrained to a chair that had been knocked over with him sitting in it. His face was bloody, his cheeks were wet, and as he spoke it became apparent he was missing a tooth - a tooth that was lying a couple feet away beside a rusty, dirty wrench stained with Notfound’s blood. 

“I’m here.” He said softly, though his words were still firm and his eyes trained themselves back onto Soot. He forced down the emotions that threatened to spill, he couldn’t let himself lose control now. “Dream’s here too. We’ll get you out.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you go.” Soot told him.

“We’ve reached an impasse, then, because we’re leaving.” Dream replied.

“With you  _ dead.”  _ Sapnap added helpfully.

“I’d love to see you try.” The Blade hissed.

Another few seconds of silence passed. 

And then,  _ of course,  _ things went from bad to oh  _ so  _ much worse.

The wind picked up and the five heard a rumble of thunder echoing through the building. Except what they heard wasn’t thunder - instead of dying down and fading away it only got louder and louder, it came from all angles, and it didn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. It took a moment for Sapnap to realise that it wasn’t the Earth quite literally opening up to swallow them whole, but the roaring of engines. A whole lot of engines.

“Shit--” Soot spoke first, the four breaking from looking at each other to check the entrances to the room. Everything was blocked, the only source of light were those pointing directly into Notfound’s face. 

“Cops?” Sapnap asked, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the sake of a head from the Blade.

“No.” He said. “No sirens.”

“So worse, then?” Dream asked. “They wouldn’t bring the military out in the middle of a hurricane for us, even  _ I’m  _ not that much of a catch.”

He must have been waiting for someone to pick up the joke he’d set up and flirt back, because Sapnap saw the disappointed look flash across his face. It wasn’t as if anyone had time to say anything, though, as the people surrounding them decided to make themselves known.

“Hello in there, anyone hooome?” Came a sing-song voice from outside, a loud speaker being used to carry the voice of the man in question over the sound of the intensifying storm and through the walls. All four men groaned in response, realising what that voice meant.

How could things get any worse than  _ him?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh i wonder who that could be...
> 
> hope you enjoyed! comments & kudos, as always, are hugely appreciated! thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> NEW FIC ALERT! christmas is over & that means i'm gonna duel-wield multi chapters! is this a bad idea? absolutely! but i'm super pumped so i really hope that you enjoy! i've not decided what day this is going to be updated on (i'm thinking wednesdays, but we'll see going forward) 
> 
> as always, comments & kudos are hugely appreciated. about 10% of my readers leave a kudos & 1% leave a comment, so if you have a moment to spare do consider letting me know if you're enjoying the fic below! as has become customary with my longer fics, i've come up with a playlist you can listen along to on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/51s5oVIAHOMO888Sk3RIDR?si=R1yDfG2IR0S4Y0xF_NRoVA), so check it out!
> 
> if you'd like more of me, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonieiswriting), or you can join my discord server to yell at me personally for whatever i've done to emotionally scar you! hope to see you around!!


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